Treason
by Dreamuero
Summary: Annabeth and Piper are young women bound by class and duty. Percy and Jason are men fighting for what they think is right. What will happen when the four clash? Will they become unlikely allies or enemies? Royalty-ish/Pirate-ish au.
1. Power

a/n: well, here we are again. Another new story. This story was originally going to be released celebration Hotel Escape's anniversary, but I didn't want to juggle three stories because I know I'd get lazy about updated them in a timely fashion. So since Hotel Escape is now over (or will be over in a week or so) this is coming out in celebration … or consolation, depending on how you see it.

Anyway, this idea has been floating around in my mind for a ridiculous amount of time so, after toiling endlessly on it, I decided to write it.

I'm going to apologize in advance for the endless stream of historical inaccuracies. I will also, just for my own convenience, be ignoring the consequences of unprotected sex such as stds and unplanned pregnancies. Do not misunderstand, I do not in any way or form condone unprotected sex unless you and your partner have both been tested and are on a reliable birth control. Also, I think it's very common to see abusive relationships romanticized on so I am definitely not trying to promote that with love-hate relationships.

Additionally, this story will address some mature themes, primarily emotional **abuse** and **rape**. The rape is a really short scene in the second chapter. I'll definitely warn y'all before tho so if you're uncomfortable at all, just go ahead and skip it.

Another little fyi, this story might be a bit of a slow burn because, although, I love smutty stories, this just fits better with the time frame.

Full Summary: Annabeth is a young woman bound by her duty to her family and her people with a secret threatening to destroy her. Piper was a girl trapped by her social class who has escaped and built a life for herself at sea. Percy is a terrible rogue struggling to defend his ship of misfits from threats both at sea and on land. Jason is a soldier in the king's army looking to avenge his sister. What will happen when the four clash? Will they become unlikely allies or enemies? Royalty-ish au.

(yes, I'm aware my summary sucks. I'll fix it soon, I promise)

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, and even that is debatable.

* * *

Chapter One

Power

"I would be delighted," Annabeth swallowed thickly, running the tip of her tongue along her teeth, preparing for war or accord, she wasn't sure which. Not yet, anyway.

She drew her lips into an adoring smile despite the soft screaming of her cheeks as she continued to force the pleasantly naive expression; the pain didn't bother her much anymore, she'd grown accustomed to the dull ache. She supposed years of political games and failed coops did that to a girl.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Luke questioned, his lips pulling into a disbelieving smirk. He arched his brow in an amused manner as he glanced across the long ornate table to where she was seated. "You look… distressed," he drew out the word with a deliberate ease, flicking his icy gaze to her hands.

Annabeth glanced down, following his brief gaze, and noticed she'd been unknowingly tapping her fingers to the rhythm of her anxious heartbeat.

"I'm a tad bit nervous, I suppose," she supplied, her expression never wavering as she folded her hands neatly in her lap, ceasing their movements.

"I don't see why."

She breathed in deeply but said nothing.

Luke sighed, standing from his chair. She couldn't help the shiver that trickled down her spine at the cold clang of the furniture scraping the marble floor.

It's a dance, she recalled, one foot in front of the other.

 _It's a minefield_ , they'd advised her, _one misplaced step and you're dead, executed by guillotine_

He took a graceful step in her direction, a perfect step, and she felt her heart race, speeding up to challenge the thoughts running anxiously through her head. He ran his fingers along the seam of the table, tracing the timbered veins as he slowly made his way over to her.

"I know," he began smoothly, licking his lips as he paused briefly. "That this marriage will be very advantageous for both you _and_ your family."

Another step.

"Of course," Annabeth nodded. "your majesty," she added silkily and felt lighter at the resultant curve of his lips.

"A crown, a throne, a nation at your feet is not enough then," he accused, his tone light but his eyes flashing with a dark edge.

Another tread.

"Not at all," the blonde assured him, treading carefully. "You misjudge my willingness to marry as a power grab. I, rather, seek adoration."

"You wish me to bow at your feet?" he questioned, eyeing her with amusement.

A stride this time.

"Perhaps," she allowed, tilting her head back slightly as he nears, meeting his eyes with a fire she hopes to the Gods will do the job. "Or perhaps I simply know that a man of your stature will only be satisfied with the best of the best." He narrowed his eyes, clearly intrigued.

 _Good_ , she thought.

"Or did you have other reservations in accepting Lady Catherine?" she posed. She knew it was a risk, to challenge a prince, to challenge _him_.

"And you're the best of the best," he countered, coming to a clean stop before her chair.

"Undoubtedly," she replied confidently, her own voice impressing her.

Luke watched her, seemingly impressed before chuckling. "And your loyalty?"

"Lies with my husband," Annabeth answered easily. "No one else."

"Hm," the young man hums thoughtfully. His fingers slid off the end of the table, lingering acutely close to her bodice.

She inhaled shallowly, hyperaware of the movement of her chest as it rose and fell.

OoOoO

He stole the breath from her lungs with his words. His touch made her blood pulse rapidly through her veins, sending her heart into a frenzy. It was as fairytales had promised. As she had wished, had long hope for it to be, so why did it only bring her dread now?

Still, it was as her advisors had expressed. She supposed it was her own naive misconceptions of marriage that had allowed her to believe such a farce.

"I would have believed you more attentive to your husband's needs, to your _king_ _'s_ needs."

"You get ahead of yourself, your majesty," Annabeth schooled her expression, presenting a facade of innocence, discouraging any inkling of animosity. "Your father has yet to declare your rightful position and our ceremony is still weeks away."

"We could marry tomorrow if you wished it," he stated decidedly, asking with a look. "If _I_ wished it."

"My love," Annabeth sighed, putting down her book in order to speak to him. "Surely you realize what a political fiasco that would be. A prince and duchess eloping would be a scandal even your own father couldn't quiet."

"I suppose," he agreed stiffly.

"Besides," the blonde added, catching his gaze from beneath her lashes. "You and I both know such a ceremony would be disgraceful for a prince of your caliber."

"You will never disappoint me, Lady Chase," Luke assured her, stepping languidly behind her chair, seemingly mollified by her false admission. He placed his hands n her shoulders, pinning her in her seated position. "You will never betray me."

Annabeth's mouth went dry. She wondered if he knew and wishes, prayed, pleaded with her shoulders not to show signs of distress.

"Would you, my _love?_ " he queried, lowering his lips to her ear.

"Never," Annabeth promised, dread curling around her lungs, threatening her air. "Whatever would compel you to ask such a question of me?"

"Whispers," he answered softly. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Surely you don't believe such ludicrous accusations," Annabeth insisted, feeling powerless for the first time since their courtship began.

"Of course, not," he said evenly, his lips unpleasantly curled at the corners.

OoOoO

There was a fortnight until the ceremony now, but she no longer denied him. Not after that night.

 _Learn or die_ , they'd told her. She decided she preferred the prior. She'd always been good at learning anyway.

"Men will fall to their knees before you," he assured her as his lips traversed her collarbone.

"Again," she muttered, leaning into his hands.

"They will worship you as their rightful queen," Luke pressed into her throat. "Men will go to war for you, live for you, die for you, whisper our names with their final breath."

Power, she pondered in moments like these, was the wine of the men. They drank until drunk, dizzy on the possibilities, only to find themselves lost when the sun rose.

It was man's job, after all, to drown himself in wine, believing it ambrosia. And a woman's to stand by his side, only exposing her corruptable palate to the finest of spirits.

Power, she remembered, was never something she had desired. She had learned, though. She was no longer naive. She knew she needed it, regardless of inclination. It was a survival tactic if nothing else.

"You never disappoint me, Lady Chase," Luke murmured as he stroked the soft skin of her thigh, believing them words of reverence, of true and utter devotion. "You always satisfy."

"It is my duty," Annabeth remarked coyly, a coquettish flutter of her eyelashes accompanying her words.

He laughed, the sound reverberating low in his throat.

She smiled warmly, innocuous eyes shining, before smothering the expression into the curve of his shoulder. She waited until his breath evened and his chest rose steadily before pulling herself from his arms and padding quietly to sit at her vanity.

He had slipped into her chambers, as he had before. He had startled her, catching her in her slip.

Annabeth stared at herself in her mirror and her reflection stared back. Her eyes raked her appearance, searching for imperfection or injury. Her gaze couldn't help but linger on the marks that decorated her neck, or perhaps they tarnished it depending on one's view.

Annabeth pushed aside a curtain of curls, permitting herself closer inspection. They were bruises, their origins mixed. Different occasions with different outcomes. One before she'd learned, one after. She let her hair fall back down, hiding the spots of darkness.

If love existed, this definitely wasn't it. She did not love him, but, then again, she had never expected to. Her duty to her family, to her friends, to her people, had robbed her of any chance of romance. Though she strongly suspected the notion had been stolen much earlier, her birth to be specific. The defining moment of her life, the discovery that her parents beloved firstborn was not what they had hoped.

She did not love him, but he could give her what she wanted, what _they_ needed. And that was her duty, her birthright, it was all she'd been raised to accomplish.

And accomplish it she would.

OoOoO

There were only days until they were to be married, until she would become proper royalty in the eyes of the court, a force in the eyes of the privy council, sacred in the eyes of the people, and subservient to her husband.

She could have, _would have_ gained so much, but not without loss.

She'd never find out just how much. Perhaps it's better she never did.

"Oh, Annie," he sang mockingly, his tone shooting daggers. "You are not only a staggering beauty but an astonishing spirit as well."

"Luke," he had requested she refer to him as such, "what has brought on such a flattering declaration?"

"You promised me loyalty once," he sidestepped the question. "You gave me your word." His eyes shot up to hers, a blue so sharp it stunned her momentarily. "What is the value of your word, Lady Chase?"

"It is invaluable," Annabeth assured him, her nails digging discretely into the skin of her palm, scratching up her skin like soap from a bar. "Though I do not remember promising you loyalty, but rather my _husband_ loyalty."

It was a mistake. She knew the second the words escaped her lips.

"And what does that make me then?!" Luke boomed, taking a menacing step towards her. She wasn't used to this type of anger, this outrage. His irises blazed with a cold fire she had never seen.

"My prince," Annabeth placated him, "my king to be." She stood and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, it seemed to work as his body relaxed. "Any act against you, against your future reign or your father's reign would be treasonous."

"Treasonous, indeed," Luke agreed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he glanced at her a second time, his gaze had softened and his harsh line of his lips had calmed. "You love me, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Say it," he commanded. "I want to hear it out loud."

"I love you."

It was sad, she thought afterward as she was being carried away, how little the words meant to her, even if they were based on a naive notion of affection she had been forced to abandon years ago.

"You shall be my queen," he stated soundly, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and holding her in front of him. "You and I shall reign Kriophoros together and bring about the strongest empire the land has ever seen."

"Yes," she agreed, unable to stop the euphoric glow at the vision of a crown, heavy and gold on her head. Perhaps even a scepter and an orb if everything occurred as planned.

"You shall be mine." His grip on her shoulders tightened, his fingertips digging into her delicate skin. "You will be mine and mine alone. Others will live for you but _you_ will live for _me_. You will never _think_ to betray me, never consider a treasonous act at even a basal degree."

"Yes," Annabeth urged, silencing his thoughts forcefully as she captured his mouth with hers, stealing his breath with a movement of her tongue.

OoOoO

The ceremony was but a night away, barely 12 hours standing between her and her goal. Well, not her end goal by any means but a significant moment nonetheless.

"Yes, Luke."

"Good. I'm pleased with your… newly accommodating demeanor," he sneered, satisfied with her answer, oblivious to the bitter undertone that scraped her words, the tinge of iron on the tip of her tongue. "Now go," he commanded after a few seconds of silence. "Return to your quarters. I have work to do."

Annabeth nodded obediently and stood. She curtsied and left the room as quickly as she could without her movements appearing out of the ordinary.

Annabeth quietly closed the large doors behind her and flattened her back against one of the long boards of wood. She forced herself to swallow a deep breath, shaking at the shallow feeling of panic spreading throughout her chest.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She had done everything right. She had danced like a goddess, every footstep careful and precise.

Annabeth felt her eyes burn with unshed tears but blinked them back, knowing perfectly well she was years past crying. The tears didn't make a difference anyway. They had never achieved her anything, not then, not now.

The blonde heard a shrill voice echo through the corridor and immediately stepped away from the doors, clearing her expression of any trace of dismay.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Rebecca, the Lady Luke had assigned to assist her, questioned in a tight voice.

"Yes," Annabeth answered, shooting the servant a charming smile, though her eyes still shone with the remnants of her lapse of control. "I find myself desiring a breath of fresh air."

"Shall I escort you to the gardens?" the maid offered politely.

"Please," Annabeth agreed, wondering if the stiff woman was simply acting out of discretion or if she had truly failed to witness her outburst.

The Lady spun on her heel, oblivious to her internal dialogue, and led her away from yet another room her fiance had managed to taint with dark memories.

Annabeth gracefully followed, ghosting her fingertips over the skirt that covered her hip, allowing the reminder to calm her, to embolden her, to propel her forward with an air of dignity reserved only for those appointed by the Gods themselves.

She and the maid spent almost ten minutes navigating through the complex hallways and elaborate stairways of the castle before they reached the ornate door leading to the gardens. Despite the trek, Lady Rebecca made no attempt at conversation, instead watching the blonde with a cautious eye.

Annabeth wondered if she was fearful. It was the blonde's duty to appear intimidating and grand, to walk, speak, and act with condescension, after all. Still, sometimes the princess-to-be found herself seeking companionship. She didn't need someone to worship, to love, to even like. She only sought someone to trust, to share an ounce of the burden berthed decidedly on her shoulders.

"Lady Chase," Rebecca said, catching the blonde's attention. Her lady in waiting was holding open the door, waiting for her to pass.

"Thank you," Annabeth murmured with a nod as the crossed the threshold. She couldn't help the sigh of calm that trickled from her lips at the sight. The rows of greenery that expanded past her line of her sight were rustling softly in the wind. She felt a similar breeze wash over her, some of her tension washing away with it.

The blonde took a step into the garden, her gaze lingering on the pristine cut bushes and the spottles beds of tulips. She resisted the urge to run her fingers along the leaves, to leave forward and reacquainted herself with the smell of sweet nectar. Instead, she stood, poised, beautiful, and cold, and watched from afar as the leaves shivered at a sharp gust and the blossoms bled their sweetness.

The antithetical worlds that existed within the realm had always struck her, even back then, before the madness.

The world she remembered, the one she lived for, had always been riddled with chaos and the dangers that resulted from it. Despite the circumstances, however, warmth and comradery had somehow still pulsed strongly in the veins of Atlantides' citizens. That had been years ago, though. She worried now, having been gone for so long, that it might have faded, that she might be fighting for nothing.

Behind the wall, in the castle, everything was immaculate. Stiff superiority was inscribed into the very walls of the building the way it had been the people. She swallowed, wondering if her brothers would recognize her after this all. This world had been her life for so long, old memories were becoming legends, mythic stories told in passing, slipping off the tongue as fine delusions of fantasy reserved only for children.

She had learned to dance so long ago, she wondered if she would ever be able to saunter again.

Annabeth trod down the path, careful not to trip on the skirt of her gown as she made her way to the cliffside overlook. She had only taken four steps when a small weed growing between the roses caught her eye. She halted her movements, pausing momentarily to gaze at it.

It had always been the weeds - the golden dandelions and long-stemmed poppies - the undesirables, who had impressed her the most. She supposed now, staring down at the tiny imperfection, that it had been their ferocity that stirred her, their utter ability to thrive despite the most unlikely of circumstances.

 _They're blemishes among a variety of jewels,_ Luke had told her once.

 _Hm_ , she had agreed with a docile hum of contentment.

Annabeth tipped her head back slightly, allowing her eyes to trace the clouds slowly drifting across the vivid blue sky - whose color could never be replicated, no matter what the royal seamstress insisted.

 _I shall have silk shipped in from Alania_ , he'd promised her after overhearing her request. He'd promised her land, riches, the entire world. His nobleman thought him incredibly generous, her ladies assumed he was wildly infatuated, but the blonde knew the truth. Sincerely, she suspected everyone knew at some subconscious level, that he was really arrogant, egotistical to a point of reckless grandeur.

But he had also promised her power, and though she could not quite pinpoint the source of his boon, she could just taste the intangible notion on the palette of her tongue. She could feel the intoxicating sting that drove men crazy just ghosting her fingertips, causing her frayed nerves to dance.

A breeze circled Annabeth's ankles, lightly flicking at the frills of her skirt, creating an illusion of flight.

It had taken her a bit to get used to the royal attire. It was tighter than she had been used to - the first time she'd worn a corset she'd nearly fainted - and she'd found the royal clothes also constricted her movement - far more than she had initially been comfortable with.

It had taken time, but she'd learned, like she always did.

She was the clever one, after all.

Annabeth allowed her chin to fall as she lowered her gaze, peering out over the garden. She proceeded to walk along the stone path until she was standing at the edge of the jagged stone overlooking the ocean. As she reached the edge of the overlook, she closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air, a reminder of childhood, of something she would never get back.

Luke had once told her he didn't like the ocean. She had been confused as to why. She supposed he didn't like the lack of the control, she couldn't say she disagreed.

 _It's dirty_ , he had reasoned and never offered any other justification for the aversion.

Annabeth breathed in deeply once again, allowing the cool air spread into her lungs, filling them to the brim before she exhaled fully. She could still feel a cold spot on her collar where he'd sucked at her skin. It felt numb, both the area and the thought.

 _Another interesting development_ , Annabeth conceived.

It was as if her skin had been branded, she supposed it had in a way; everyone knew she belonged to him, more property than a human being. It would have made her angry, furious, under different circumstances, but in the current atmosphere, a momentary lack of autonomy seemed an easy price to pay.

Annabeth couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life with him. She supposed it wouldn't matter, though.

Her heartstrings twisted in apprehension, knotting together as if to protect the larger organ.

Soon, the kingdom would bow down before her, just as Luke had always described. The image made her blood rush and her heart pound. One day, she would be capable of destroying an entire kingdom and of similarly rebuilding it as she'd always hoped, as they'd promised.

It was all they wanted and soon it would all be beneath her fingertips. After her coronation, freedom would be theirs, be hers. A priorly unimaginable dream would become reality.

Annabeth opened her eyes and reached forward to wrap her finger around the intricately carved handles of the balcony, only brushing the gravity of her situation, of the careful line she was treading, the plank she was walking.

The blonde kept her eyes glued to the horizon and the glowing sunset before her.

In a few days, she would be the most powerful woman in the land. She should be honored the king's son had set his sights on her so young. It was what she had always wanted, wasn't it?

She took a deep breath and in the distance, she heard her maid shrieking.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and whipped around to face her, always overdramatic, lady in waiting. She felt her dress rustle around her ankles as she did. She threw her maid an annoyed look for having interrupted one of her few moments of peaceful pondering and was met with a pair of wide terrified eyes.

"Lady Chase!" Rebecca screamed and backed up into the stairs, tripping over the cobblestone steps.

"Yes?" Annabeth questioned, her voice laced with concern. While it was normal for her maid to scream a fair bit when a bee or squirrel came too close, the current display felt excessive.

"Pi - ruh," Her maid opened her mouth to speak but was unable to form words and instead just pointed somewhere behind the blonde. Annabeth turned swiftly on her heel, catching sight of the rapidly advancing figures before her. She barely had time to gasp before they had pulled a burlap sack over her head.

"Get off me!" Annabeth bellowed, flailing her limbs wildly.

She heard a groan and wasn't in the right mindstate to properly enjoy the satisfaction of kicking her abductor in the shin. She tried to repeat the movement but missed and felt a large pair of hands at her waist, lifting her up off the ground.

"Rebecca!" she yelled at her lady in waiting, hoping she was intelligent enough not to have stayed. "Do something! Call for his majesty!"

Annabeth felt a hand reach around, trying to muffle her screams with a palm.

"Call someone! Help! I'm - oomf," Annabeth's chest hit a hard curve that she could only assume was her captor's shoulder.

The blonde barely had time to register the man's overwhelming smell before she realized she was transported. She began bouncing up and down on her kidnapper's shoulder and her screaming increased exponentially with every tremor.

Sadly, her shrieks, though heard by many, did not inspire any brave individuals to intervene. If it hadn't been for the burlap sack covering her head they might have defended her but, to the locals, she was another spoiled royal being carried away by pirates. It was of no interest to them, no great loss.

If only they'd seen the mark on her hip.

* * *

So yes, I started another fic despite my promise not to. Oh well. Whatever. I promise I will get to Hotel Escape right after finals. It's almost done. They finish this week and my ee is due Monday so I should be pretty easy off after that.

Anyway, I am going to update this every week (on Thursdays). I already have ten written so that'll last me 2 ish months unless I get overly eager. But _no,_ I have sworn to remain strong. I still have to go through and edit though because I wrote them a long while ago.

extra unnecessary info on the story that you are free to skip if you want to: This story is going to follow Annabeth and Percy and Piper and Jason over two parallel stories. It's going to be a pretty long fic. It will also feature a variety of PJO and HoO characters. It's kind of like a royalty/pirate combination fic and will take place in the mid-1500's but in a totally made up kingdom. The fic can get definitely dark at times and will be super angsty but whatevs, we're just gonna pull through despite.

Hope you guys like it!

iCiao!


	2. Powerless

a/n: **warning** this is the **rape** chapter. It's minimal but still present. Be aware. I've made it so this chapter isn't crucial to the story, if anyone is in anyway affected by the subject just skip to the next one.

* * *

Chapter Two

Powerless

Piper sat at the end of the long wooden bench, her chin balanced on her folded hands. Around her, the ship creaked, drunk pirates roared, concubines laughed loudly, but the brunette's ever-changing eyes remained glued to the candle before her, watching as the flame swayed softly to the calming rhythm of the ocean.

The girl felt an ominous darkness climb up the protruding notches of her spine, wrapping around the nape of her neck and disturbing her peace. Someone was watching her, she knew instantly. She remained still, frozen in place, hoping he would leave her alone, lost interest in the stiff figure. The ship rocked across the rough ocean, and the resultant lurch jerked her forward, muddling her movements.

Piper swallowed thickly when his eyes didn't leave her, her teeth grinding behind a tense jaw as she covertly glanced behind her to pinpoint the origin. To her great terror, her startled orbs were met with a pair of dark determined ones.

The man to whom they belonged offered her a smug smirk, his lips twisting into a knowing curve that made her blood freeze in her veins.

The brunette adjusted uncomfortably in her seated position, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she tried to formulate a plan. Perhaps she could run, it had certainly worked in the past. Piper stood up from the bench and her heart dropped when she saw him rise as well.

She moved as fast as her weak legs would carry her, darting towards the bathroom with her candle in hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Piper saw him follow and willed herself to move faster. To her surprise, her prayer worked and by the time he had taken two full steps, she was hidden in the dark bathroom.

Piper breathed in deeply, trying to find relief in the putrid air of the dank room. Her calloused fingers slid across the wooden door, making quick work on the lock. Once the door was shut and securely locked, Piper set the candle on the ground, careful not to burn anything, and pressed her dirty fingers into her temples, trying to calm the headache beginning to fester.

The dark-skinned brunette leaned back against the wall and focused on the rise and fall of her chest, watching it slow and finally steady. She slid down the wall and curled her knees into her body, finding refuge for the dozenth time in the enclosed space. She sat there, silent, waiting, for what felt like an eternity, before looking up.

She was about to stand up when something caught her eye in the corner of the bathroom, a momentary glimmer among the darkness. She bent down and reached past the medieval-looking toilet to pick up the shiny item and was surprised to see a small hand-held mirror. She brought it close to her candle and examined it in the shadowed light. It had, no doubt, been left behind by one of the Pirates' many "temporary guests".

She sighed, rubbing her thumb in small circles along the surface of the glass and scraping away some of the grime that covered it. She could barely make out her own reflection in the dirty glass.

Piper knew she shouldn't look, it would only make her feel worse, it would only show her all she'd lost. But the mirror seemed to taunt her, mock her, testing to see if she was strong enough to face the person she had become.

Piper flashed her gaze towards the shaky reflection and caught a glimpse of dark skin but nothing else. She went against her better judgment and used the hardened tips of her fingers to grind away the rest of the dirt, allowing her to face her reflection head on.

She was unsure, when she first saw herself, who exactly she was looking at. It was a moment of ignorance, of bliss, that allowed her to believe she wasn't the girl pictured before her.

The moment didn't last long, soon enough, reality returned to her in a lung-crushing realization. Freshly swollen eyes looked back at her as she took in the broken image.

The girl looking back at her barely resembled the person she had been 3 months ago, the innocent girl she had been when she'd boarded this ship. The long brown hair she had previously prized so greatly, the envy of her sisters and friends alike, was not knotted and riddled with dreadlocks. Her formerly bright eyes, her father's favorite feature, were dark and sunken. The somber bags underneath the slits and the bruises that spotted her body only worsened the blow.

 _She'll save us all_ , her mother had told her father. _She could not have been born so beautiful for any other reason_.

Not anymore, now her complexion was sickly. She had lost any undertones of pink and bronze and _life_ and all that was left was a pasty yellow.

She supposed she _had_ completed her mother's wish; she _had_ saved them, however much it had cost her.

Piper swallowed thickly as she fought to accept her appearance. It had never meant much to her in the past, but she could barely stand to look at herself now. Her face had grown skinny and weak from lack of nutrition. The hollows beneath her cheekbones were more prominent than ever, no longer conveying elegance but rather debility, the culmination building towards eventual collapse.

Her entire body was caked in a thin layer of dirt and sweat and blood and all that she had sacrificed, all that she had lost. On her neck, Piper could see the dull marks, purple patches - _hearts_ her sister reminisced once, told her it was a sign of love, of adoration, of utter indisputable devotion.

That was then.

Now - _now_ they made her want to curl up in the corner and never get back up, never face reality again.

A tear rolled down her cheek. The liquid managed to pick up some of the grime on her face and clear a skinny aisle of clean skin. She blinked rapidly, fanning her face and wishing the tears to stop spilling down her cheeks.

To her surprise they did. They hadn't in so long.

Perhaps she was evolving, becoming stronger. Or, more likely, she was simply growing tired. She was so used to the treatment that the public acts of submission had buried themselves into her soul, diminishing her into less than the shadow of a girl staring back at her.

Piper glanced around the small room, looking for something to protect her. Her gaze caught the state of the wall behind her. She inhaled deeply, fighting a gag as she dragged a flat hand along the wall. She pulled her hand back and stared silently at the filth before transferring it onto her face.

Piper took one last at her surrounding, peering at her reflection and deciding she was ready. She placed the mirror back in the corner where she'd found it and picked up the candle, _her_ candle. She swallowed noisily and opened the door with a hard yank at the handle, returning to the party.

The young brunette had only taken a few steps when she felt a large pair of hands roughly grip at her waist, digging into it with a lack of delicacy that caused her stomach to plummet.

She froze, swallowed past the absolute disgust in her throat, considered her options, and turned around, the ugliest smile she could muster plastered on her face.

"Need something, sugar?" she croaked. She tried to sound cranky, to sound demanding and horribly mature, but she came off as naive, innocent, and afraid.

The man didn't say a word, simply lowered his hands to the curve of her backside and eyed her with uninhibited interest.

"Sorry, babe," she declined his advance, attempting to shimmy out of his handle. "I have something I need to attend to at the moment." She tried to turn away, she tugged and pushed and shoved but he didn't let go, he was concrete, anchoring her in place.

"Yeah," he agreed, slurring his words as a lopsided grin spread across his face. "Me."

"Later," she promised and set down her candle, using both her hands to relinquish his vice grip. But he didn't let up.

"Now," he retorted, his teeth biting at the word. His nails dug into her hips, tearing at her skin as her staggered breaths pulled her apart inside.

"Honey," Piper tried, putting on her most hypnotizing voice.

 _My sweet little girl_ , her father had always smiled when she'd pleaded, unable to resist her sugary sweet tone, her antics no doubt ensuring her the family's last pastry.

"Another time I'm sure I - " he laughed roughly before shoving his hand over her mouth, silencing her.

"No talking," he commanded and proceeded to lap at her pale skin, attacking her collarbone like a rabid dog.

 _So much for talking my way out of it_ , Piper chuckled to herself humorlessly. It struck her then, that this was the moment she had been dreading since she'd arrived here. This was _that_ moment that all the other girls talked about.

His wet mouth trailed down her neck placing sloppy kisses along her clavicle and biting harshly at her worn skin. Piper was desperate to escape. She wanted it to stop, she _needed_ it to stop, but it didn't. She wanted to fight, she _needed_ to fight, but she couldn't.

He back her up against a pair of rice filled barrels and flipped her over.

Piper wished she'd blacked out, but she hadn't. She was devastatingly conscious as she was violated in the most intimate way possible, stripped of her self-respect and her will to continue and the strength she had thought she possessed.

The brunette felt hot tears rush down her face and tried unsuccessfully to relax her limbs.

 _It'll be better that way_ , someone had told her once. She barely remembered her name now, only her suffering, only her story, so similar to Pipers.

"Are you crying?" he sneered, roughly pulling her chin up when he was finished.

"No," she lied in a pitiful voice, trying not to feel ruined, not to feel totally and completely destroyed.

"You stupid bitch." He laughed. "I'm the one who should be crying." His eyes scoured her figure, lingering on the traces of mud littering her skin. "Look at you, you're disgusting."

Piper was silent.

He shook his head, letting her chin fall out of his dirty hands. He tucked himself back into his pants and stumbled away from her, sitting down at the nearest table and passing out in a drunken stupor.

Piper's eyes followed him until he was unconscious. The rest of the room carried on as if nothing.

It _was_ nothing, she remembered. It was _nothing_.

Piper's knees trembled below her, an unfamiliar pain overtaking her body as she forced herself not to slump to the floor. She pressed a hand to her chest, to her torn bodice and bare breast and demanded her heart stop, to halt its movements and freeze where it was.

It didn't.

Piper choked on a sob and sat against the barrel nearest her, the very barrel she'd been thrown onto.

She felt totally, completely, wholly defenseless.

He'd just raped her, the word was gruesome, crude and inhumane, but it was the truth.

He had fucked her, had assaulted her. And she hadn't stopped him, hadn't murdered him where he stood for trespassing, for taking the only thing she had left.

He didn't even ask.

At the reminder of what had just occurred, of the bile trailing down her inner thug, she felt her body lurch forward. A gag caught in her throat and jerked her body without her permission. Knowing it wouldn't be long, Piper pushed herself off the barrel and rushed into the bathroom, into the room that had offered refuge, even if it had only been temporary.

Piper threw herself in front of the foul-smelling toilet just in time. She kicked the door closed as nothing the remnants of yesterdays dinner spilled from her lips.

Every dark memory flashed before her eyes as she wretched bile poured out of her. She thought of everything, of everything good, of everything bad, of anything in between. A feeling of hopelessness overtook her, pushing her to the ground, collapsing her until she could no longer hold herself up, until she sunk into the floor.

Then she was falling and all she could see darkness, any trace of light extinguished from her vision, from her - from her - from _her_.

Piper's eyes flashed open, her lungs gasping desperately for air. The brunette sat up, her gaze scanning her surroundings, making sure.

 _Just to be_ sure.

Piper strangled a sigh of relief, her lips still quivering, her hands still trembling.

She felt a warm body shift next to her, cold feet kicking at her shins. She turned slightly, assuring she hadn't woken him in her fit.

Still trying to recover from her nightmare, Piper pushed back the sweaty hair that was matted to her forehead. Careful not to wake the Captain, she pushed back the covers and carefully stepped out of bed.

The cool air swept across her bare skin, sending shivers down trickling down her spine as she tried to slow her breathing.

She gazed out the small circular window of the cabin, seeking a distraction. The moon was out tonight. It was beautiful.

 _Beauty is a virtue_ , her mother had always told her. _Don't waste it_.

It had seemed like a curse back then, the desirable symmetry of her face, still did to some degree, even now.

 _It's both a blessing and a curse_ , he father, the more sensible of the two, had countered. _A blessing because men will fight for you, they will_ die _for you_.

 _A curse_ , her mother had supplied, the words barely leaving her twisted lips before they dissolved into silence. _Because they always want something in return, always want_ you _in return_.

Piper trod quietly across the room, creaking open the door to the Captain's private bathroom and slipping inside. She shut the door quietly behind her and leaned forward against the wooden table top. She took a few deep breaths trying to abolish the horrid images that stubbornly insisted on reemerging, of terrifying her, haunting her with the past.

 _It's different now_ , Piper declared inwardly.

She picked up the mirror the rather narcissistic captain required be kept in his bathroom - _to fix my beautiful blonde locks._ She stared at her reflection, boring holes into her own eyes, and attempted to obliterate any memories of before, when she was weak.

Her hair was short, the ends choppy where she'd cut out her dreadlocks. It was the first time she'd felt anything other than dread, the first time she'd felt like anything other than an object for other's pleasure.

There were colorful feathers woven within the short strands, almost as bright as her eyes. She no longer covered her skin with dirt and grime, preferring the healthy colors that accented her dark skin. Her features were no longer unnaturally sharp and bony, her cheekbones didn't protrude awkwardly from her thin face.

The disguise, the mask she had worn for so long had proved useless time and time again. The pointless facade had achieved her nothing, saved her from nothing.

Piper released a subdued breath as her heart rate finally calmed to its natural speed.

Her kaleidoscope eyes were bright, but they didn't shine with optimism like they had through her youth. Instead, they glimmered with an allegiance to life, a devotion to survival.

Piper found, interestingly, that she didn't much care.

As long as they were shining, she was still alive.

* * *

a/n: I realize this isn't amazingly written. It's also short. It's a hard topic to cover.

Oh well.

c ya next Thursday.


	3. Pretty

Chapter Three

Pretty

Annabeth could honestly say she surprised even _herself_ when she managed to continuously kick and scream for a full hour. It was only when she felt her surroundings change - the stable ground begin to rock and the air turn stale and salty - that she finally accepted no one was coming to help her.

It was quickly becoming clear she would be forced to save herself.

Again.

It really impressed her sometimes, how little others were able to achieve, able to _manage_.

The blonde continued to shout at her captor, though with less fervor, consciously restraining herself. She heard them - there were two of them, that much she was sure of - mutter scattered complaints under their breaths.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded in the most commanding voice she could manage while thrown over someone's shoulder.

"Shut up," one of the men grunted, clearly growing exhausted with her antics.

 _Perfect_ , she thought, a triumphant smile gracing her lips, even if all she had managed to do was thoroughly annoy them. He had a strange accent, Annabeth had noted when the man _not_ carrying her spoke. He wasn't from around here, she was certain. They had most likely arrived to Krophoros by ship, the roads in the region were notoriously dangerous, riddled with thieves.

However, Annabeth had also noticed, he was uneducated. In the middle of his last complaint, he had improperly conjugated a verb. His partner hadn't bothered to correct him. Perhaps he didn't care, but Annabeth suspected he most likely had not realized the error either.

So they were traveling by sea and uneducated and not necessary on moral high ground if her kidnapping was any indication.

 _Fuck_ , Annabeth declared internally as it hit her. They were pirates. She, the Duchess of Tenibri, had been kidnapped by pirates, _pirates_.

She resisted the urge to laugh - half out of desperation, half out of genuine confusion - as the pair of miscreants indulged themselves in the most pointless of arguments.

How they had managed to get past Luke's guards was an utter mystery to her.

 _Clever Annabeth_ , they had called her. _She will save us all_.

What would they say if they saw her now, kidnapped by two dimwitted pirates? Clever, indeed.

"What is _that_?" Annabeth heard a sharp female interject from afar, putting an end to both the Pirates' daft discussion and her pitiful train of thought.

"A girl," the pirate carrying her supplied shortly before carelessly dropping her from his shoulder. The blonde landed with a loud thud against a floor of wooden planks. Her teeth tore through her lip at the impact, and her mouth was immediately filled with copper.

"I realize it's a _girl_ , you idiot," The female countered with an annoyed sigh. "What Imore interested in knowing is why you took her in the first place!"

Annabeth blinked several times, her eyes watering as they forcefully adjusted to the light bleeding into the burlap sack secured to her head.

"Too pretty to leave behind," the shorter of the pirates, the one who hadn't been carrying her, offered thoughtlessly. The remark earned him a snicker from his partner. The sound of the grin in his tone made the blonde stiffen when she lay.

Annabeth took a deep breath, preparing to either attack or run the second she was unbound.

 _Fight or flight_ , she considered momentarily. _Learn or die_.

"Jackson clearly specified no women or children this morning," the female bit out. Annabeth caught a glimpse of her booted feet and noted her wide challenging stance with an inkling of respect.

Perhaps they could be friends, in another life, of course.

"But we thought - " the Pirates attempted to justify themselves but were cut off her by sharp snarl.

"Well you obviously thought wrong then," the girl, women, snapped. "We'll have to get rid of her in Polonia. We can't risk redocking."

Annabeth fought the shallow sigh of relief that fluttered through her lungs at the possibility of returning, of a future, knowing full well the dangers of fruitless hope.

"But she's wearing a Lady's gown!" the smaller Pirate who was now standing at her right burst out.

Every lone flame and dying ember of faith vanished from her heart.

"Captain said to take anything of value. _She_ has value," the man emphasized.

"Fine," the female voice sighed loudly. "Keep her then, but you two better be prepared to face the consequences of defying the captain." She turning hard on her heel and began striding away, the harsh sounds of her footsteps balancing the blonde's heartbeat. "And _try_ to more adequately tie her up," the muffled voice called from afar. "She's a liability."

It was only a few moments after the sharp-tongued woman spoke her final words that the two pirates began to badmouth her, gritting their teeth, tightening their jaws - _needs to learn her place,_ _how dare she speaks that way_ \- Annabeth had heard it all before - _t_ _o us, to men. It's unnatural, positively blasphemous_.

The blonde set her jaw resolutely before taking advantage of the distraction. She carefully picked herself up until she was balanced precariously on her knees. Remaining low to the ground and praying to the Gods her movements didn't catch her skirt, she slipped away, staying far from any voices.

Once she had put what she determined to be a safe distance between her and the pirates, Annabeth used her tied wrists to tug the burlap sack off her head. The obstruction unceremoniously dropped, and she was left blinking rapidly, attempting to adjust to the blistering sunlight. As her vision cleared, she turned away from the brightness to examine the direction she had come from, seeking out the goons who had yet to notice her absence.

Her gray eyes managed to catch the horizon as she turned and a sudden pressure caved in her chest. She inhaled sharply, the breath sobering her to the reality.

Before Annabeth realized what she was doing, she was already at the edge of the deck, digging her nails into the wooden railing as her eyes desperately raked the scene before her, hoping, pleading, _praying_ that she was dreaming.

She wasn't.

Panic spread through Annabeth's blood like a fast-acting poison, paralyzing her where she stood. She was surrounded, fucking _surrounded_ , by water. In the distance she could see Luke's kingdom growing smaller against the darkening her horizon, swaying to the rhythm of the ocean. A violent stab of nausea dropped the blonde to her knees, her gaze stubbornly glued to the fading patch of green.

She had longed to escape for so long. She had wanted nothing more than to vanish into obscureness. But not like this, not anymore.

The fantasy that had appeared to her in moments of pain, of dread and stress and doubt, she realized suddenly, was not a dream but a nightmare.

In the finest of her delusions, she had disappeared and the story had ended. There had been no ellipses, no epilogue. But this was no dream, this was real life. In the real world, there were always consequences for even the smallest action. The story continued after her betrothal, her marriage, her vanishing, her death. She was but a brush stroke of impressionism, a pinprick amidst embroidery.

It was a fucking _nightmare_.

And now she was _trapped_.

 _Watch your language_ , she had been reprimanded. _A proper duchess does not utter such obscenities_.

Annabeth was tempted to laugh hysterically at the sliver of a memory. She supposed it did not matter anymore. All her training, all her work, it would all amount to nothing. _She_ would amount to nothing.

She had made so many promises, promises of hope, of a better tomorrow, of her return, of _power_. She had made too many promises. She had been advised not to.

 _You offer them false hope_ , Chiron had remarked an hour before she had left for good, an unfamiliar bitterness to his words. _They depend on you._ He had paused, glancing up at her from beneath his lashes. _Your loss is their loss, is_ our _loss._

Annabeth pushed herself off the barrier, away from the ocean, the unknown. The people she'd grown to care for, to love, what would happen to them now that she was gone? Perhaps she would become a martyr, a figure to rally behind. She hoped - no, perhaps it would be better for them to stay put. She was their last hope. Any action to threaten the monarchy would only aggravate the crown, would only result in brutal retaliation.

Stuck on unanswerable questions, on the hypothetical, Annabeth barely registered the shout that originated somewhere behind her and gradually grew louder. She barely struggled when her captors tugged on her limbs, dragging her back to the nearest post.

"Don't run away from us again," the smaller pirate threatened. "Or it won't end well for you princess, no matter how pretty you are."

A pair of thick hands gripped at her bare forearm, yanking the blonde upward. The pain that erupted in her shoulder was severely sobering, bring the blonde back to reality.

"Get off me!" she demanded, kicking blindly and managing to land one solid blow before she was forced to the ground and her delicate wrists were bound again, layering the new knot over the prior.

Annabeth stared down at the binding with equal parts confusion and amusement. They were standing smugly, as if they'd constrained her past invention. She was regarded as little more than a tedious imposition, an inconvenience. They had no idea how wrong they were.

"Thought you could escape, huh, princess?" the pirate taunted as he finished his knot and stepped away from the tall beam.

Annabeth fought the urge to spit at him, not for the slight but for the simple fact that he had so vastly underestimated her that she was horrendously insulted. She took a deep breath and tightened her fingers into a fist, recalling Jason's stories. Besides, she could use their perception of her to her advantage. People who thought little of her always learned the truth one way or another.

Annabeth supposed it was a question of the easy way or the hard way. She was no barbarian, no war enthusiast, but she could calmly admit she preferred the hard way.

A deep voice boomed across the deck, momentarily halting her inner musings.

Her two captors jumped at the sound and became visibly nervous. She narrowed her eyes and followed their anxious gazes across the ship. There was a raven-haired man striding angrily down the deck, coming straight her way. Her gray eyes roamed his approaching figure, considering his sharp features.

He was exceptionally tan - no doubt from countless hours in the sun - and his face looked unusually pointy from her dutch angle.

His eyes flicked towards her, briefly catching her gaze, and she noted their unmistakable resemblance to the sea.

Green and blue.

Light yet dark.

Calm yet terribly dangerous.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, arching his brow at the two pirates standing beside her. He licked his lips cooly at the tense silence that followed his angry query.

Annabeth could practically feel the power radiating off of him. It was different than what she'd felt in the past, molten hot, a fire raging wild, unafraid of the impending darkness that might snuff it out.

"I told them," a familiar female voice commented, sounding deeply annoyed. From behind the tall man, stepped a dark-haired woman. Her clothes were dark and messy, riddles with tears and holes. She had black kohl lining her eyes, bringing out the electric blue that lay behind.

The color struck Annabeth as familiar, but she didn't have time to consider the thought before the woman was speaking again.

"But they claimed she was too _pretty_ to leave behind," the female pirate finished in a mocking tone, not bothering to hide the highly unladylike snort that escaped her.

The blonde realized it was the same pirate who had stood up to her captors less than 15 minutes ago.

The green eyes of the man Annabeth assumed was the captain narrowed to a glare. The smaller pirate cowered behind the larger one, avidly avoiding the sharp stare. The captain clasped his hands behind his back and directed an expectant look towards the one still standing proudly before him.

"Look at her clothes," the larger pirate delved in a boisterous voice.

He kicked at the skirt of Annabeth's gown, scuffing the beautiful blue and exposing the thin gold lining to the open air, causing the material to glint in the bright sun. Then, seemingly unsatisfied with the effect of the discovery, he bent down to tug on the fabric, hoping to emphasize his point.

Annabeth roughly kicked his outstretched limb, her small heel denting his skin. The recipient of the blow pulled away with a hiss, holding his hurt hand delicately.

"She has got to be a royal," the smaller pirate stated soundly, stepping forward to take the lead as the larger pirate recovered from Annabeth's attack "I bet she's worth a hell of a lot of gold."

"She smells much too good to be a commoner," the larger one added, wringing his hands. "Must have bathed recently."

Annabeth couldn't help the scoff of disbelief that escaped her in response to the final remark. It was truly incredible; every stereotype she'd ever heard about pirates was turning out to be accurate. They were impressively daft and nowhere near clever.

The thought made the corners of her lips curl into a smile of condescension, but the sentiment was only temporary as she recalled all the horror stories and wondered if they were true as well. Jason had always horrified her with his stories. He'd told her of the heinous way in which pirates had violated girls, the way in which they had neglected and mistreated children, the way they had mercilessly shot down innocent villagers for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A silent shiver trickled down her spine at the dreadful images that flooded her mind. In the moments that followed she considered her options.

She could present herself as shy and unsure. She could appear to be timid and naive. Perhaps they would be kinder to her if she did.

The alternative was confidence, speaking with pride and certainty. If she revealed her political position, she faced two potential outcomes; either the pirates would murder her for associating with the tyrannous monarchs or they would keep her alive and well and put a ransom on her head.

Annabeth had spent far too long pretending to be timid and uncertain. With a sniff of superiority, she landed on the latter of the two options. Confidence was much more her style, even on the off chance it was overstated.

"Has it occurred to ask?" the blonde inquired loudly, interrupting the argument her captors and the Captain had been having.

Everyone's eyes shot down to her, examining her with furrowed brows and lines of confusion.

"Whether I am or am not, in fact, a monarch?" she clarified.

The green-eyed captain cocked in brow at her outburst, his curious eyes shining with amusement. "Are you?" he questioned in a lazy drawl.

"No," Annabeth answered simply, her gaze fixed soundly on the Captain. "Not high ranking in the least."

"She might be lying," one of her captors criticized. "Royals always fuckin' lie."

The blonde licked salt from her lips and suppressed the urge to scowl. "I am, however," she expounded, "valuable."

"How so?" the Captain questioned and stepped towards her, ignoring the cry of congratulations from one of his men.

"I am a lady to the Queen," she lied. "I could easily serve as a powerful bargaining chip." The messy haired Captain seemed to doubt her, scanning her figure with a brow raised. "I know secrets of the crown," Annabeth continued. "Very valuable secrets the monarchy would prefer to keep hidden."

Yes, this was good. This was what she would do. She would feed the Captain nonsense, nonsensical military tactics and meaningless affairs until they reached land. Once they docked she'd escape and find her way back.

It was a perfect plan. Well, as perfect as a plan could realistically be given her current situation. Still, it was perfect. Except -

"She's lying!" the smaller of her kidnappers declared, shooting her a glare before peering imploringly at the Captain. "She called for the prince when we took her. She called for him by name!"

Fuck.

Annabeth's teeth sunk savagely into her bottom lip, drawing blood.

She watched, mildly fascinated as the Captain's face contorted at the mention of Luke. She noted the telltale tightening of his jaw, the stiffening of his fingers.

"What do you have to do with Luke Castellan?" he spat, his eyes blazing, boring holes in her story.

Annabeth tilted her head up, facing the Captain with a determined purse of her lips.

"Nothing," the blonde replied, her disdain for the ship's crew clear in the light gray of her eyes.

"Don't lie," the Captain sneered, taking another step towards her. "You said his name. How do you know him?!"

He was angry, visibly frustrated as well. That much was clear.

The blonde swallowed thickly, formulating a story.

"I am a servant, a dutiful attendant to the crown." The Captain scoffed loudly but Annabeth ignored him and pressed on, her conviction blending seamlessly with her story. "I do not serve him directly, only his fiancee."

The green-eyed Captain narrowed his eyes, his gaze raking over her.

"He's engaged," he mocked, more a statement than a question. "And this _fiancee_ , what is her name?"

"A - Elizabeth," she stumbled, not having prepared for the question. "Elizabeth Chase," she finished, too late considering the possibility that he might hear the name Annabeth Chase during one of his journeys on land. Oh well, she would have escaped by then, it wouldn't matter.

"And yours?" he questioned, his brows raised dubiously as he scrutinized the given information.

"Annabeth," she answered without thinking, her lips seemingly acting on their own volition.

"Your family name?" he pressed.

"I do believe that is none of your concern, _Captain_ ," Annabeth countered, catching herself this time. Revealing her surname would have swiftly unraveled her story.

He bent down, lowering his eyes to hers and examining her carefully. She met his gaze with determination, doing her best to hide the loud swallow that seemed to echo in her ears.

His fingers - his dirty calloused fingers - caught her chin, urging her it upwards. So that he might just inspect her aspect in its entirety.

"I suppose she could be of some use to me," the Captain finally concluded, the word falling from his mouth and brushing her lips.

Annabeth clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into small fists as she suppressed the urge to cringe.

"For a limited time, of course," he finished as he straightened and took a step back.

His fingers remained tense, Annabeth observed from her seated position, his knuckles still devoid of color, bloodless.

"Unbind her," the Captain ordered, his eyes sweeping lazily over to the pirates standing close to her left.

He watched her with uninhibited interest, it was clear to all on the deck. But Annabeth noted the way his irises glinting covertly with revulsion. She wondered what he could possibly find so repulsing. She had spent the majority of her later adolescence training to become irresistible, surely it was _she_ he was revolved by.

Then the blonde wondered if she had been the only one to notice the spark of aversion.

"She can't say here," the Captain announced as the dark-haired girl, the _only_ girl Annabeth had seen so far, stepped forward to untie her in the absence of other assistance. "She'll stay in the front deck."

Annabeth barely had time to process the command before a dark chuckle echoed in her ear and an oily snicker was heard across the ship.

"Percy," the dark-haired girl hissed, her brows knitting together in disapproval. The blonde frantically whipped her head around, desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

"Make use of her," one of the pirates behind her sneered, and his tone made her flinch. "Properly."

She knew what it meant. Jason had explained as much but even without his tutelage, she was certainly bright enough to comprehend the implications of the pirate's words.

Her heart began to beat erratically, a speed not completely unfamiliar to her. She scanned her surroundings and internalized all the cruel smiles and amused grins.

"Be gentle," one of the pirates clapped the other on the back, chortling seemingly good-naturedly.

Their breath, hot and heavy, against the skin of her neck sent a flash of fear jumping through her veins.

This could only badly.

 _Fight or flight._

She had to decide. She didn't want to. She had to.

Fight.

Annabeth's lips pressed into a thin line as she realized her hands were now free. _She_ was now free.

She spun around swiftly, her curls whipping, and sucker punched the pirate whose lips were still moving, trickling with obscenities and filth until the same lips were trickling with blood.

She threw herself at the smaller one, trying to wrestle his dagger from his hand. He gripped it tightly and waved it wildly, managing to slice a decent gash into her palm. She hissed and pulled back her hand but the injury did not subdue her assault.

The smaller pirate struggled furiously under her and just as her uninjured fingers wrapped firmly around the handle of the blade, she felt a pair of hands at her waist, roughly shoving her back.

"Let go of me at once!" Annabeth yelled, grappling in the arms of the female pirate from earlier. The woman held the blonde's arms back and forced her arms into a restraint. It was certainly more effective than the rope had been, and it hurt a lot more too.

One of the large pirate's wiped his now bloody nose before approaching Annabeth who was still pushing back against her new bindings. He wrapped his fingers around her chin and pulled it roughly so they were almost nose to nose.

"You're awfully feisty," he growled, allowing his lewd gaze to rake over her body. "No worries, I like it when they fight."

Annabeth swallowed.

Then she swallowed again because for some reason the lump would not leave her throat.

"No," the Captain - Jackson, she remembered the female pirate call him earlier - demanded suddenly.

The blonde steely gray eyes shot to him, going still at the remark. He appeared to be surprised he'd spoken, as if the words had inadvertently escaped his lips.

Annabeth sharpened her gaze, appraising him from where she stood. But as soon as she discerned the marginal widening of his eyes, it was already gone.

"The girl will spend the night with me," he announced, careful not to meet the blonde's eyes.

It was really quite suspicious, she heeded, he'd had no trouble with the task a mere moment earlier.

There were scattered whoops and cheers throughout the crowd surrounding them at his proclamation.

"He'll show you your place," the still bloodied pirate standing in front of Annabeth spat. "Won't you, Captain?"

"Absolutely," the Captain smirked.

The expression barely reached his eyes. Annabeth wondered if anyone else had noticed.

"She has no idea what's to come to her."

The girl still holding Annabeth tightly from behind sighed audibly, sounding tired, annoyed even. The blonde couldn't say she blamed her. The at least semi-sensible woman was forced to endure hours on end with these disgusting pirates every day.

"Where do you want her then?" the dark haired girl asked the Captain as leers of _a_ _real lesson_ and _a good choking_ slipped into her head, poisoning the taste of her own defense, sweetening the nectar of revenge.

"My quarters," he answered with a sly smile before stalking away in the direction of the ship's well.

oOoOoOo

Annabeth had been sitting on the edge of the bed for what seemed like hours now. Her hands, still restrained uncomfortably tight at the wrists, were toying with the intricate fabric of her dress.

It didn't seem the Captain was coming anytime soon.

Annabeth's gaze traveled around the room, taking inventory. The bed sat in the center of the room and to her left were three chests, two large ones and a smaller one. It was the smallest in size that intrigued her the most for it was tucked carefully into the corner, almost completely hidden by the shadow of the larger chests.

Her analytical eyes moved on, skimming over the wooden door and private bathroom. The stormy gray caught on a desk in the far corner of the room, it appeared to serve as a study. There was a bookshelf pressed against the wall. She could see numerous titles but couldn't quite read them from where she sat.

Annabeth glanced cautiously at the door before standing and traversing the short distance. She found herself at a surprisingly organized desk and while she was certainly intrigued by the documents laid out across the wood, she found her eyes drawn to the small square windows that lining the wall directly above the desk.

The view was beautiful. In the small portholes, she could see an endless ocean, the colorful remnants of the sunset glimmering off the soft collapsing edges of the waves.

Annabeth tore her gaze from the infinite expanse of blue to inspect the materials of the study. There was a large map spread out on the center of the table and two books opened to a nondescript page lying on either side. Above it several ink bottles in different colors and a white quill.

It seemed most illogical, to have supplies when the Captain was illiterate. Who would these books and quills serve? Everyone knew pirates couldn't read. And Annabeth strongly suspected anyone who dealt with them was no of the highest educational standards either.

Perhaps they had another dignitary trapped on board as well.

"Enjoying yourself?" a deep voice questioned, piercing the silence

Annabeth jumped, lifting onto her toes. Luckily her skirt hid the gesture.

"No," the blonde responded calmly, facing him with an air of defiant indifference.

His pointy face could be perceived as attractive, she supposed as she eyed him, for a pirate anyway. She wondered if women often swooned before him. Not proper women, of course, but the pirate harlot sort.

"And I promise you I will not tonight, either, Captain Jackson," Annabeth state soundly, her hands clasped stiffly before her.

"I don't doubt it," the captain remarked with a scowl.

He stepped towards her. She swallowed and forced herself not to retreat, not to be intimidated, not to show the fear eating at her insides.

"Prince Castellan will kill you," Annabeth hissed as he came closer.

The green-eyed captain laughed, taking her wrists roughly in his hands. The blonde ignored the heat that rushed through her where his fingers engaged her skin.

The captain's hand reached towards his hip, to the halter where she had registered earlier that he kept his dagger.

"You don't think he's tried," he sneered, his lips curling into an unpleasant expression.

He pulled his blade from his belt and just as Annabeth inhaled sharply, blinking back the incoming pain, he cut the ropes from her wrists.

The blonde never let her eyes leave the dagger as he brought it up to his own fae and traced a jagged line through his brow, down his cheek.

Granted it took her a second, Annabeth soon realized what he was referring to. Luke's scar. The discovery that he was most likely the cause of the injury that had almost blinded the young prince sent a spark of fear shooting down her spine.

She was suddenly extremely grateful for possessing the forethought to lie about her position at court. Had she revealed the truth, she would surely have been murdered.

"Remove your gown," the Captain instructed suddenly, his face still dangerously close to hers.

"No." Annabeth throat contracted as she tried to return moisture to her mouth.

"No?" the Captain clarified incredulously, placing the dagger carefully on the desk behind her.

"No," she repeated firmly, raising her chin to match his height.

The Captain grinned, easily picking her up by the waist and throwing her onto the soft bed just a few feet away. He took a step back when she hit the bedding, watching her with an amused smirk as she tried to find her bearings.

"Remove the gown, he maintained, his tone taking a venomous edge.

"No," Annabeth retorted in a tone just as menacing, expertly working cold malice into her words.

The Captain rolled his eyes her stubbornness and reached under his jacket to pull out his pistol.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

He pointed it at her and clicked the loaded barrel into place.

 _Fight or Flight_

But what if neither was an option.

She couldn't run, and she certainly couldn't fight.

 _Fight or flight or -_

 _or -_

 _or -_

They had never taught her in her training.

Die? No, of course not. That seemed much too drastic.

Submit. She supposed that was worse though, wasn't it. To give up power, to be stripped of autonomy. She could imagine no worse fate. She found she would much rather die.

But then she remembered

 _She will save us_

 _She_ has _to save us_

Fuck.

She was fucked.

"Remove it," the Captain ordered, his voice deadly calm.

Annabeth met his eyes with her own. Her gaze lingered there, for one, two, three silent seconds, before she reached behind her with trembling fingers and felt for the ribbon holding her together. Her fingers slipped over the smooth satin and she tugged.

The back of her gown unraveled, exposing the angles of her collarbone, the plans of her chest.

Her stare never left him as she slid the ornate fabric down her shoulders, baring the corset wrapped tightly around her upper body.

Her regal gown skated over her hips and fell to the floor with an unceremonious flutter.

The blonde managed not to shudder as his eyes ran up and down her figure, an apathetic expression tinging his features. She felt hot tears sting in her eyes. She had promised never to cry, not again. It never accomplished anything. But then again, she had also promised herself she would never be in this position before.

She had lost control. She was powerless.

 _An intangible fantasy_ , her mother had assured her.

But Annabeth could feel it, the lack of - dignity and independence and sovereignty and pride and everything, fucking _everything_ \- _her_ curdling her blood, crushing her lungs, strangling her heart.

"Get in the bed," the Captain commanded and, though the words appeared to leave his lips will significantly less spite, his pistol was still raised, perfectly in line with her eyes.

Annabeth complied, lying back against the stiff pillow and pulling the cover over her body, a final attempt to marginally protect her modesty.

The Captain put away his firearm and retrieved his dagger from his desk before striding away from her, towards the exit.

"Percy," he stated when he reached the door, his fingers curling around the knob.

"Pardon?" Annabeth managed to choke out.

He wouldn't meet her eyes and the blonde found herself grateful.

"That's my name," he revealed. "It's not Captain, not Jackson, not Perseus, just Percy."

Then the Captain Perseus Jackson - and certainly not _Percy_ for all she was concerned - slammed the door behind him before she had a chance to answer, not that she had anything especially pressing to say anyway.

Annabeth pulled the surrounding bed sheets around her body and, in the all-consuming darkness, she no longer felt the need to be strong, her obligations - to her family, to her friends, to her people - all seemed to disappear.

She allowed her tears for fall for the first time in - weeks, months, years, she really wasn't sure anymore - but soon found neither the darkness nor the deafening silence was able to sufficiently mollify her growing distress.

* * *

a/n: yes, a lot of my chapters start with p because it was originally gonna be a running joke, but then I got sick of the joke really fast so I canceled it.

also, sorry this is out so late. It just took a lot longer than I thought it would to edit it bc the old version was kind of shit. Also it's hella long.

additionally, sorry I don't really have time to edit rn. grammarly will have to do.

Anyway, see y'all l8r, next Thursday to be specific

iCiao!

p.s. the hotel escape epilogue is only like 1/4 done, but I do expect to finish it over the weekend.


	4. Boom

Chapter Four

Boom

Piper laid in his bed - even now, after so long, the title her bed, or more accurately _their_ bed, still felt tacky and unnatural on her tongue - staring up at the wooden ceiling, a pleasant smile ornamenting her bruised lips.

He'd woken early that day, enticing her with bites and licks, before leaving, perfectly fulfilled, a sated grin brightening his face.

The brunette sat up and stretched, taking in the soft sun peeking in through the slightly tinted glasses of the Captain's quarters. The view was beautiful, no matter the hour, the moment, the occurrence.

 _Always beautiful_ , her mother had consoled her, not knowing how little words meant, not knowing how little the brunette cared. _Even when you cry, you are beautiful_

Piper shivered at the memory of her final day at home.

Her gaze still propelled towards the steely sea, she lifted her tattered dress from the floor. The brunette lifted it over her shoulders and slid it down her body, allowing the garment to fall awkwardly into place.

Her dresses now were so different from back then - from the home that was slowly become a fable, something to dwell on before falling to sleep rather than a tangible reality - they were ratty, mismatched, and lay over her curves in cumbersome ruffles rather than the heavy fabric that used to cling to her bosom and accentuate her figure.

She wasn't sure which she preferred. The old was comfortable but deceptive, always carrying hidden agendas and severe requests. The new, though - the new was uncomfortable but light and airy, offering opportunity and promise.

She supposed it didn't really matter which she preferred - _old or new, land or sea, vestige or_ \- the choice had been made for her.

Piper pulled her choppy hair back behind her ears, tucking her colorful feathers between the dirty strands.

She was dirty now, physically anyway. That was another difference between the then and now. At home it was psychological, she had _felt_ dirty, her very _soul_ had been dirty. She had scrubbed herself raw in the bath, scraping the remnants of her activities from her body, from her psyche - it never really left her soul.

"Piper," the captain called emphatically, his head glimpsing into the room as the door slid open.

"Yes," Piper turned, catching his gaze with hers, a warm smile pulling at her lips.

"I have prepared you a dish," he disclosed, licking his lips inadvertently at either the mention of food or at the sight of her, she wasn't quite sure.

"Thank you," the brunette replied with a small bow of her head. "I will be out in a moment, Cal."

"Of course," he grinned and exited, closing the door loudly behind him.

She didn't love him. He knew, probably. She had never claimed she did, never uttered the three words, _those_ three words.

Love wasn't supposed to be like this, rough and possessive. It was meant to be as she'd described to her sister in her bedtimes stories, light and airy. It was reckoned to be a summer's day, radiating with warmth and comfort even in the most dastardly of situations.

The captain, _her_ captain, as he insisted she call him, was not unaffectionate by any means, not selfish or stingy. But he was easily angered and admittedly terrible at controlling his fits of fury.

It was certainly not the _worst_ Piper could do, especially after her last captain.

 _I can't believe I paid for this shit_ , he laughed bitterly, a horrible grimace slipping across his lips.

It would be her final night on that ship; she knew even then.

 _Don't you know the value of a well-respected ship, of a private room, of -_

She'd barely been able to stand in the moment, pushed into a corner, sitting with her knees twisted painfull underneath her.

 _Don't,_ she'd struggled, pleading with a look.

 _Please_ , he'd snorted and taken her anyway.

The next day she was back on land, her hands tied behind her back and with an unreasonable price tag on her head.

The Captain loved her. She could tell, she could always tell. She didn't love him, though she certainly wished to.

Love couldn't be forced, she knew that with an absolute certainty she rarely possessed.

Piper took a deep breath and tore her eyes away from the sea. It was too beautiful to analyze, to examine. She did not wish to tarnish such mystery with fact, with reality.

OoOoO

"What do you think?" the Captain questioned, turning to face the brunette. His eyes crinkled at the corners at the bright sun obstructing his sight.

"I think," Piper swallowed, considering the dark-skinned man tied up before her, "that killing him would set a precedent that might hurt you in the future."

"Hm," he considered, his gaze flicking to the prisoner.

The brunette watched, her lines of worry diminishing at the glint of acceptance she recognized in the Captain's irises.

He agreed. He always did. She was, after all, his loyal companion, his trusted advisor, his splendid lover, his beautiful trophy, his his _his._

"I will spare you," the Captain announced, kicking roughly at the feet of the warrior. "You are nothing but a man loyal to your Captain." The prisoner stiffened at the mention. "Of course," he continued, his lips twisting cruelly, "your precious C _aptain_ , is dead, slane by the blade I wear on my left hip."

The Captain removed his cutlass from its place in his belt. He pressed the strained metal to the man's cheek, allowing the prisoner to witness his brutality, his strength, his _power_.

"As I said," the Captain explained, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. "I will let you live but only on one condition, you will join my ranks, accept your position below me, among my men."

Piper held her breath, waiting for the dark-skinned man to respond. She observed the tensing of his jaw, the twitching of his finger, and hoped the next words to escape his lips would not be insurgent. The Captain did not take kindly to rebels, _traitors_ he'd called them - _dirty fucking traitors, filthy scum waiting to be rightly wiped off this earth -_ no matter what Piper had tried to convince him.

"You ask for my loyalty?" the prisoner posed.

"In return for your life," the Captain confirmed with a slight nod of his head.

"Fine," the dark skinned man agreed after looking his oppressor up and down.

"Fine, _what_?" the Captain barked, his brows furrowing as he directed the prisoner, or rather the new recruit, a violent glare.

"Fine, Captain," the man fixed, his tongue sliding across his sharp incisors.

"Good," the leader accepted. "Take him to the lower deck!" he barked after his followers, beckoning wordlessly for Piper to follow him as he strode away.

OoOoO

"Have you considered it?" the Captain asked, his lips traveling across the curve of her shoulder.

"Naturally," Piper replied, attempting not to stiffen at the mention of their prior discussion.

"And you do not _agree_?" the Captain queried, straightening sharply as he sensed her unease.

Piper winced at his retreat, displeasure tasting strongly in her mouth.

She had never been good at hiding her emotions. She supposed it was a quality that had initially inspired both her successful and tragedy within her line of work.

"I simply think we require more time," Piper tried to justify, keeping from the words floating across the forefront of her mind, lingering dangerously close to her lips - _no never no._

"How much time exactly?" he demanded, flipping himself on the mattress.

"I - "

"This is a dangerous life we live, Piper." His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and tightened. "We don't _have_ much time. I want a future, I want a boy, I want a - "

"But - " she attempted to contradict him but was cut off by the sound of a crash directly above them. "What was that?" she wondered out loud, her eyes darting to the ceiling.

It was not unlike the ship's crew to cause a ruckus, just last week they'd broken a barrel full of rice. The Captain had been furious. He'd cut one of the younger men, a boy really, in a mad fit of rage.

"These men don't understand - " he began to mutter before standing, the sound of his voice lost in the rustling of the bed sheets.

"Where are you going?" Piper questioned, rising with the sheets carefully wrapped around her bosom.

"Where do you think?" the Captain snipped, shooting her an exasperated look. "To deal with this mess." He shrugged on a pair of pants and stalked determinedly towards the door, turning only to leave her with three shattering words.

 _This isn't over_.

Piper waited after the door shut behind him, one, two, _three_ seconds before standing herself, still protecting her tattered modesty with a dirty sheet. She quickly made her way over to the Captain's jacket, he'd left it laying on the floor.

It was easy, almost _too_ easily - morally speaking anyway - to dip her fingers into the front pocket and remove a gold coin. She held it between two fingers and regarded it curiously.

Piper sighed and dropped the Captain's garment, tucking the token into the palm of her hand. She trod carefully across the Captain's quarters and located her dress. It was laid out across one of the Captain's many chests, just where she'd left it the day before.

Piper allowed the off-white sheet to slip from her grip, the coarse fabric sliding languidly down her stature. The brunette faced the small windows lining the ship's exterior, hoping to catch a sight of the beautiful sea while changing only to find herself staring at a plane of solid wood.

"What the fuck - " she deadpanned, a dark thread of dread coiling in her gut.

Piper frantically shoved her dress over her head, not waiting a second for it to fall as she usually did; instead, she moved towards the door, swinging it open.

"Piper," the Captain was frantic, breathless and desperate. He pushed her aside, entering the room in an obvious panic.

She had never seen him like this. She had not prepared for this. She had not -

Her fingers were still clutching the gold coin she'd stolen earlier. What would come of her small fortune? Of the smidge of treasure she had accumulated for over a year? What would come of her sisters? Of her -

"What's happened?" she demanded, shaking herself from her pointless ponderings. "Why is there a ship so - "

"My men," the Captain lamented, his eyes wide, his fingers frantic as they gripped her shoulders. "They're so stupid, _so stupid_. They saw it. They saw it and didn't wake me, thought I was - "

"So it's a ship," Piper dismissed, trying to calm the ship's leader. They would not survive if he was unable to fight past this wild insanity that gripped him. "We'll fight. There's no ship stronger than ours, you said so yourself - "

The Captain swallowed, his eyes dulling at her words.

"Remember?" Piper continued, trying to wake him to the reality. "You said, only Argo II is strong enough to defeat you, to defeat your men, to defeat _us"_

 _To defeat_ me _._

"It's not a pirate ship - " the Captain interrupted, gasping as he struggled to get out the words. "It's a naval ship."

"Oh."

 _Shit_.

Piper bit her tongue. She didn't feel it but she could taste metallic tang of blood staining her tongue. The crown's army had dozens of soldiers, more than they could ever hope to defeat. She had heard, once, long ago, that every sixteen-year-old man was required to serve at least two years, to prove his worth and loyalty.

"Parlay?" she suggested weakly.

"They won't even talk," he spat. "Refuse to negotiate with filth, they said." The Captain searched frantically for his pistol. "They claim we've taken a prized possession of the king's. They demand we deliver her at once."

"Her?" Piper barely managed, her mouth dry, her lips hanging open in disbelief.

She handed the captain the gun he had been otherwise unable to find.

"His fiancee, his princess, his soon to be queen - " the Captain rambled, ensuring his weapon was loaded.

"But we don't _have_ a princess," Piper supplied desperately, knowing perfectly well, on some subconscious level, that her words were meaningless, the reiteration of a seemingly insignificant fact.

"Don't you think I know that?" he snapped, his lips contorting into a frustrated snarl. "I very cordially informed them of that fact, but they don't feel inclined to believe me, a filthy _pirate_."

"What are we going to do?" Piper asked, swallowing back a breath of apprehension.

She couldn't start over again, she couldn't lose all she'd fought for, all she'd sacrificed, all she'd saved.

"We'll fight," he breathed, kissing her lips roughly with his chapped ones. "It's all we _can_ do."

The floor shook above Piper, the path of frantic feet erupting a chaos inside her she had not witness in a long time.

The ship rocked slightly.

"Go!" Piper urged, pushing the Captain from her arms and through the threshold of the room, into the chaos.

She didn't know how long the ship would last. She had to keep herself safe. If he could not ensure her safety, she would be forced to abandon him.

He swiveled on his heel, turning around to face her before leaving.

"I love you," he stated hoarsely.

She wanted to return the sentiment, she _wished_ she could return his words. But she had promised herself years ago, back then, at home, that she would never state them in vain, never utter the words unless they meant something.

But -

"I love you too."

But -

But he was going to die - he could tell, she could feel it like a dumbbell caught on the walls of her fucking heart - and if the words, _her_ words, could offer him sanctuary, offer him some degree of peace and honor in his final moments, then she figured the words meant something, that small shake of her soul was worth it.

He smiled, really truly smiled, and she was tempted to cry, to vomit, to scream until her vocal chords were ripped from her very throat. Then he turned and left her, a sense of purpose echoing in his steps.

She watched him go, longer than was safe, than was reasonable. Her parents' words fought their way into her brain.

 _Beauty is a virtue_. _Don't waste it_.

Piper and her mother had never gotten along.

 _A blessing and a curse_. _A blessing because men will fight for you, they will_ die _for you_.

He would _die_ for her, the Captain would die, for _her_.

"Fuck," Piper sobbed, kicking the door shut suddenly and locking it. Hopefully, it would keep intruders out long enough for her to figure out an escape plan.

Piper threw herself to the floor, reaching desperately under the bed for her hidden trunk of reserves. She could not leave it. She had to save her sisters from the same fate she had suffered. There was still time. There was still -

Then she heard it.

A deafening noise.

 _Boom_.

The first cannonball had struck their ship.

* * *

a/n: yeah, I'm sure yall have realized but in case you haven't, Piper and Annabeth are pretty clear foils for each other. Honestly, there are a whole lot of foils in this fic.

Also, I bet it's hella clear but I prefer to write from Annabeth's perspective (occasionally Percy's) so anything deviating from that tends to be a bit shorter and just overall shittier. I think I just have my Annabeth characterization down in my head a lot better than other characters so it can be difficult transitioning.

Anyway, that's my half-decent excuse for every other chapter being lower quality.

This chapter, for example, had to be completely rewritten bc wow, it was just like impressively bad. Really really cringeworthy stuff. That also explains why this is being published so late in the day yet again, on Friday technically bc it's definitely 1:09 am right now.

Oh well, what can ya do? Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I think I am being clear with the storyline, but I also wrote that storyline so if it's overly confusing let me know and I'll make sure to move some things around and clarify (like _actually tho_ , let me know)

iCiao!

p.s. I know I said I would have hotel escape done by this weekend but then I got super distracted with sleeping and art and all that fun stuff so, this weekend tho. No doubt I will get it done bc I will be at a conference for 2 days with nothing to do but hw and this.

iCiao for real now!


	5. Hidden Ambitions

Chapter Five

Hidden Ambitions

Annabeth's eyes fluttered open. A lazy yawn escaped her lips with basal effort, but the second her fuzzy eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar room, the blonde shot up in the bed, the events of the day prior racing.

Kidnapped.

Pirates.

Percy.

 _Fuck_

Annabeth clutched the bedspread to her chest and swallowed thickly as she examined the room around her. There was no sign of the pirate that had threatened her last night.

What if -

She desperately raked her hands over her figure, searching for signs of transgression.

No, Annabeth concluded with a sigh of relief.

Her gray eyes scanned the room, quickly taking inventory. There, strewn unceremoniously across the floor, was her blue dress. Next to it lay her shoes, small, wood-soled heels covered in ornate carvings. A few feet from it there was a small quill, the writing point barely the length of her index finger. She wondered if its construction was a mistake before registering that, in the direst of situations, anything could be used as a weapon - knife, quill, paper, power, beauty, _anything_.

The blonde noted her corset was still wrapped tightly around her torso, bending her body into compliance, and considered the notion that, although she was certain it was wildly unhealthy to restrict her diaphragm for such long periods of time, exposing herself to a pirate would be drastically more harmful to her health.

Annabeth pulled herself up from the bed and moving quickly, trod to where her possessions were spilled across the floor. She redressed herself quickly as she could without her ladies - she hadn't considered how difficult it would be. She had become quite accustomed to receiving assistance after the last ten years of castle living.

Once dressed, the blonde took several calming breaths, threading her fingers through her locks to tame them. She slipped on her shoes and tucked the quill into her bosom, hoping no one would note the subtle ripple in the otherwise smooth curve.

She straightened and, with a glance towards the door, directed her scrutinizing gaze to the captain's apparent study. Carefully, her posture perfect and poised - _shoulders down, neck straight, chin up, shoulders down, neck straight, chin up, shoulders down, neck straight, chin up_ \- she advanced towards the desk. Her eyes swept the area, lingering with a delicate precision she had long mastered on the messy scrawl that littered the workspace.

Perhaps she could identify the identity or at least the general background of the educated prisoner they were keeping. She doubted she would be otherwise allowed to interact with him.

She could barely make out words, sentences, paragraphs, before her eyes caught sharply on a particular note. It stood out from the rest based solely on the handwriting displayed. It was beautiful, more elegant than the others, a note of contained violence to its letter that elicited an inadvertent gasp from the blonde.

 _Annabeth,_

It started, the syllables of her own name harshly scraping the silence.

 _Eat_.

And it ended, her name proving longer than the message transcribed.

Gods, how terrible uncivilized.

Annabeth whipped her head around, trying to locate what exactly this mystery scribe had instructed she _eat_. Her eyes settled suspiciously on a glass of water sitting on the floor next to her bed, beside it a plate covered by a thin piece of cloth. She could barely make out a set of crackers underneath it.

The blonde tentatively stepped towards the small boon. She was suspicious for several reasons. First of all, why had the scribe left the note on the desk? Certainly, he hadn't the intelligence nor the personal knowledge of her demeanor to correctly predict her actions? Perhaps he simply forgot to place it next to the plate.

Yes. Yes, that had to be it. Another other explanation would be entirely unlikely.

Annabeth picked up the water with hesitant fingers, swirling it around skeptically. She was perfectly aware of the risks. Water didn't stay good long on long voyages, wine was far more dependable. Impure water was widely believed to be the cause a variety of diseases -

But she was parched - no, she was far past parched. Her mouth was arid, her tongue scorched of moisture, and her lips itching, crawling, fucking _panting_ to quench the thirst draining her -

No. She couldn't drink it. It was exceedingly dangerous.

Annabeth forced her gaze to the veiled plate. She removed the cloth and found four crackers. Unsurprisingly, she found the offending food equally dubious and similarly restrained from consuming it.

The blonde sighed, realizing she would not be able to continue this way. She would require a beverage before the end of the day and a meal before the end of the week. She stood up and returned to the desk. Her eyes darted across the pages of writing and illustrations, attempting to resume her examination.

After a minute or so of reading, Annabeth spotted more careful script hidden beneath the scattered parchment. She swept aside the obstructions with a swift gesture before tracing her fingers over the book that lay below them. The text described the different methods of mapping rock formations.

How strange.

Annabeth furrowed her brow and flipped through a few more pages. The margins were interspersed with notes, illegible pairs of words and sentences. As she proceeded to browse the book's contents, a folded up piece of parchment fell from the pages. The blonde left the book and turned her attention to the paper.

She picked it up from where it had fallen gracefully. She was tempted to sit down in the mahogany chair that was fit into the desk but knew it was too dangerous. If someone were to enter the room, she would be much better prepared standing rather than sitting.

The blonde unfolded the paper, careful not to tarnish the thick parchment. Even extended to its fullest, the paper was surprisingly small, barely the size of her hand. On it were several lines of different lengths and widths, all clashing rather inelegantly to form a confusing sort of diagram. Annabeth supposed, holding it at an arm's legs away, that it resembled the early stages of a map.

She wondered what land mass a pirate desired mapped. Moreover, she queried as to why a pirate would go so far as to kidnap a dignitary well versed in cartography for a simple map they could surely buy in a market.

Annabeth was still analyzing the inked parchment when the cabin door swung open.

"Good, you're up," a voice boomed.

The blonde hastily folded the parchment in two and hid it in the creases of her fingers, turning to face him with her hands clasped delicately, _deliberately_ , behind her back.

"What are you doing?" the captain demanded, his gaze steering to her position. In two long determined strides, he was in front of her, staring her down with penetrating eyes.

"Observing," she stated shortly, leaving little room for mistakes, for argument as she matched his stare. She took a step away from his desk, instinctively wishing to put physical distance between herself and suspicion. Unfortunately, her quick action only placed her closer to the captain, to where standing a mere foot away from him, twelve inches of tension between them.

"Really?" the captain drawled lazily, obviously unconvinced.

"Yes," Annabeth snapped, her lips pursed defiantly as she held her chin high, refusing to bend, to break under his dissecting gaze. She had seen so many girls break beneath the biting stares of men, had seen so many men fall under _her_ gaze. She knew the intangible power of a look was only effective if the recipient allowed it to be. And she was certainly not allowing the gaze of a captain, of a filthy _pirate_ to push her into submission. She would not break. She would _never_ break.

She supposed it was best he learned that now.

The captain took another bold step towards her. Six inches between them now.

Annabeth found herself holding her breath as his fierce gaze bore into her.

The captain slid his arm around her waist, ducking the curve to grasp the parchment in her hands. The blonde cringed as she felt it slip from her fingers.

"What's this?" he required sharply, securing her gaze as he unfolded the paper. His eyes barely flickered over the contents before returning to hers.

The blonde recognized signs the faint signs of hidden unease fought a smirk. His jaw twitched, his teeth striking each other, and his neck tensed, the muscles and tendons fighting to prominence below his tanned skin, and shrouding it all, a blank expression, the one she had become so familiar with over the years.

"You tell me, _Captain_ ," Annabeth replied, directing a patronizing aspect his way.

"If you touch my stuff again," the captain growled as he pocketed the parchment, "you'll deeply regret it."

Under different circumstances, Annabeth would have found it incredibly unwise to respond, to test him, to _taunt_ him, but her curiosity got the better of her.

" _Your_ stuff," she repeated back to him, her eyes never leaving his, even as she swallowed noisily. "I thought pirates were illiterate."

"They _are_ ," he snarled and straightened. He stepped away from her and gaze left hers for the first time over their encounter. She watched his blue-green irises shift, scanning the room and lingering somewhere near the bed. "You should drink that," he instructed, his voice gruff as he gestured pointedly towards the water she'd left untouched on the floor.

Annabeth nodded but didn't move.

He waited, his stare flicking to the glass then back to her expectantly.

"I prefer wine," she disclosed with a showy sniff.

The captain stared at her, incredulity dancing in the backdrop of his eyes. The two were suddenly caught in sticky silence. It lasted just a moment, probably. Or perhaps it was a minute? Annabeth couldn't be sure.

The pirates, _this pirate_ was rather unexpected. Not entirely unexpected, but somewhat. It left her uncertain, unsettled, unresolved.

Dubiety. It was something the blonde detested, something she avoided at all costs. It had occurred more than usual lately, ever since she'd boarded this ship, in fact.

In examining her mindset, she discovered she was currently entertaining a dangerous quantity of qualms. It wasn't her fault though, not by a long shot. It was something that could not be controlled. _T_ _his_ pirate, it seemed, could not be controlled, and that was extremely problematic.

"I don't care," the captain scoffed finally, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

"I'm not thirsty," the blonde argued, setting her jaw insolently.

The captain allowed his head to lull to the left, shooting her a tired expression. Annabeth maintained her stiff composure, refusing to concede.

"Fine," he ground out after several seconds of unrelenting silence. He sighed, clearly growing bored with her antics. "If you are going to stay on my ship, you will work like everyone else."

Annabeth couldn't help the soft snort that escaped her at his words. He was regarding her as if _she_ had made the decision to stay on the ship.

"What's so funny?" Percy spun around to face her, and she quickly noticed her mistake with a sharp intake of her breath.

"Nothing," Annabeth replied, then added at the sight of his lips parting savagely. "If I must, I suppose I find it quite _humorous_ that you believe I had some choice is remaining on this ship."

"Would you rather walk the plank then?" the captain counter, barring his teeth.

"No, but - "

" _I_ supposed you've made your choice then," he cut her off. "Remember Lady Annabeth, this isn't Castellan's castle. Your title is meaningless here. You have no power, no authority. This is _my_ ship, and on _my_ ship, you are worth no more than the lowliest of my men."

"If my title has no meaning," Annabeth opposed stubbornly, "then why do you continue to refer to me by it."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, she was sure. She just barely caught the movement out of the corner of her eyes, but she was sure she saw it.

"Force of habit," the captain flashed. "As I stated before," he returned to the topic at hand, "you will be expected to work - "

Annabeth scoffed again. The sound was manifested half because she thought it comedic in the darkest of senses that she was stuck in this situation, quarreling with a pirate. The other half, however, arose from the urge to anger the captain, to see what he would do.

The captain cut himself off and turned towards her, the tops of his lips curving into a condescending smile

"Of course," he sneered. "Forgive me, Lady, I should have realized."

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek, clamping her mouth shut to allow him to finish.

"The concept of work must be entirely foreign to someone of your - " his gaze swept over her, appraising her with something strange to pity glinting in the forefront of his irises, "status."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Annabeth queried, taking a step towards him as she became irrationally defensive. In retrospect, she wished she would have taken a second to calm herself, to remember her place and her position, to remember all she was risking. But at the moment, the blonde was entirely overcome by the splintering heat rushing through her.

How dare he question her work ethic? How dare he assume he knew her? How dare he assume he knew anything about her life, about her struggle? He had no idea how hard she had worked to get here. He had no idea what she had _done,_ no idea what she had _sacrificed_ in order to ensure a better future for those who depended on her.

"It means, Lady Annabeth, that over the course of your dull life, you've never had to lift a finger." The captain's lips curled around the ugly words, fitting the line of his mouth perfectly to the sentiment. "Your servants probably dress you every morning."

"You have no right - "

"Tell me, Lady Annabeth," he continued, ignoring her interjection, only spurred on by the frustrating bleeding into her features. "Was it _difficult_ for you to undress yourself last night? Is that why it took you so long?"

"You," Annabeth shoved his chest with her index finger, but he scarcely registered the aggressive gesture, "have no idea how I live!"

"I'm sure you're life is _very_ trying." He rolled his eyes, and Annabeth barely fought off the urge to scream. "What with people doting on your every word and suitors requesting walks through the gardens - "

"Do not patronize me," the blonde hissed. "Just give me a task, and I will complete it."

Her words silenced him. He wore a satisfied smile, but it was only several minutes later, after her anger had subsided that Annabeth realized she had given him what he'd wanted, that she'd lost and he'd won.

"I suppose the _simplest_ task would be to wash our clothing - " the captain began, but the blonde cut him off.

"I instructed you _not_ to patronize me," Annabeth shot at him. "I am perfectly capable of working as hard as any of the deft men you call pirates. Give me a real job or - "

"Fine," he growled, peering into her determined gray eyes and noting the sliver of silver running through the irises. "You can work with Nico, maintaining the ropes," Percy decided. "Report to starboard deck.

"Fine," Annabeth quipped back, her teeth gnashing together as she refused to yield her ground. "Anything _else_ I should take care of while - "

"Let's see how well you handle the _first_ task, Lady Annabeth," he mocked, "whether or not you survive - "

"I guess we _will_ see, Captain." She watched his lips tightened, pressing into a severe line at the title. She wasn't sure why she'd added it at the end. Perhaps she was merely too angry, too furious that he underestimated her struggle to properly consider the danger of angering a pirate, a fucking _pirate_ , or perhaps she simply wished to gauge his reaction to her words, to the sound of her tongue curling around the simple pair of syllables.

He scoffed loudly and his breath ghosted over her lips. It was only then that she realized how close they were standing, and she suddenly found herself breathing shallowly, her every heartbeat reverberating in her throat. She tried to draw moisture to her mouth. She was parched. She should have drunken the water. She should have listened. Now she was parched. Now she was -

He took a step back, away from Annabeth, and the blonde was filled with triumph. He had caved. He had bent. He had broken. Whether he realized it or not, he had conceded.

And, as the captain stepped out of the room, she felt a small surge of energy, of power, no matter how minuscule, spiking her veins.

OoOoO

Annabeth took a deep breath when she spotted a group of pirates loitering carelessly near the pillar where she had found herself restrained less than a day prior. She straightened her posture, considering her stance - _shoulders down, neck straight, chin up -_ before striding forward.

"Excuse me," the blonde queried loudly, interrupting their conversation with a sniff of haughtiness.

The group of men parted, allowing her passage. They're lips parted as they stared at her. She lifted a brow, challenging their apparent disbelief.

"I have instructions to find Nico," Annabeth sighed, her eyes lazily tracing the silhouettes of the stunned figures standing before her.

"Why?" a voice questioned suspiciously.

The blonde flicked her eyes to the origin of the sound and was surprised to see the dark haired girl that had escorted her to the captain's quarters. Annabeth figured she must have missed her in the mass of men. The female pirate was regarding her with shrewd orbs, clearly expecting an answer.

Annabeth considered not giving her one, but there something in those eyes - electric, icy, azure - that advised her against it, warning her not to test the girl's power.

"I will be assisting him today," the blonde explained shortly, careful to only disclose the necessary information.

"You're working?" a burly pirate beside the female interjected. The dark haired girl shot him a critical look, effectively silencing him.

"Yes," Annabeth replied, ignoring his censorship. "I find I prefer manual labor to conversing amicably with certified criminals."

The dark haired girl's expression hardened.

"You think you're so special?" she sneered. "You think your pretty dress and fair skin make you better than us?"

Annabeth had to bite her tongue not to speak in her own defense.

"You're no different then the rest of us," the girl pressed, taking a menacing step towards the blonde. "You are controlled by the crown, told what to do and how to act. No matter your stature, you will never be happy, never be free - "

 _No -_

" - Hell, you could climb your way up to the top. Be the King's mistress, and you'd still hold less power than I do here - "

 _No -_

" - You will never amount to your full potential. You will be a servant to the monarchy, a servant to wealth and oppression - "

"Are you quite finished?" Annabeth snapped, unable to listen to the pirate's lies anymore.

"No, actually - "

"Becuase, _sweetheart_ ," the blonde's lips pulled up at the corner, falling into masterful condescension, "you seem to have forgotten a few key facts." The blonde held her chin up, her eyes flashing with strategically placed pity. "You will spend your whole life on this Gods forsaken ship and never amount to _anything_. You will always be a pirate, a dirty filthy _pirate_."

Annabeth blinked slowly, taking a step towards the girl - she was a few years older than her, she registered faintly - and stared at her with her cold eyes.

"I may be a simple _lady in waiting_ ," she had to fight off a snort at her lies, "but I will be offered hundreds of opportunities to rise. And trust me, I have no fear in reaching for the stars. You say you want happiness. But, really, what is mere happiness in the face of power, right?"

The dark haired girl narrowed her eyes but didn't say another word. She simply pointed the blonde in the direction of several columns that appeared to carry the mast of the ship.

Annabeth nodded curtly in response, her tongue slipping out to dampen her sundried lips as she strode in the indicated area.

OoOoO

"I think she's lying," the dark haired pirate revealed, a telling severity to her words.

"I concur," Percy agreed, running this tongue along the line of his teeth.

"She's dangerously ambitious," Thalia continued. "Tenacious and unafraid."

"She is certainly atypical."

"She has a hidden agenda. I have no doubt."

"Neither do I," the captain recognized. "But I don't intend to rid myself of her until I know for sure what her motives are."

* * *

a/n: okay, so, I'm obviously sorry for all the broken promises. I have been completely overwhelmed with schoolwork. Once I get things under control though, I _swear_ I will finally finish the hotel escape epilogue. After that, funny business should resume almost immediately bc I have the next one 100 words from done.

btw, sorry if Annnabeth is coming off sort of bitchy but like, she will continue to be pretty similar for quite a few chapters here.

(also, fun fact: next chapter is jason's pov)

Again, sorry sorry sorry, I will definitely make it up to yall tho. I promise a writing explosion after my school work cools.

See you next week,

iCiao!


	6. A Complication

Chapter Six

A Complication

Jason perched his arquebus on the curb of his shoulder, the way he had been taught, and marched down the stairs. His fingers clenched around the handle, eyes momentarily fluttering shut as he tried to erase the horrid image of Annabeth from his psyche.

He reached the quarters he shared with dozens of other men and threw his gun down in the messy stockpile. With a sigh, he trod to his hammock, refusing to allow his imagination anymore leeway. He wouldn't survive if he continued to imagine the atrocities his friend was no doubt suffering.

She was always so strong, so clever, so - no. She would find a way to defend herself. She would never allow men - no, not men, _pirates -_ to defile her in such a way. She was perfectly capable of handling a few ruffians. He had taught her to defend herself. All those lessons together, every seemingly strange request she had made of his would pay off. She would fight. She would -

Jason attempted to coax himself to sleep, spinning images of the blonde kicking a dirty pirate in the stomach and punching another in the nose, angling upwards, just as they'd practiced, but the visions always seemed to end the same way; eventually, she was overwhelmed, exhausted and defenseless against the expanding number of pirates.

Jason groaned loudly and collapsed into his hammock, allowing the curve of his spine to adjust to the uncomfortable sway of the ocean. They had been searching for the pirate's who took her for nearly a week. At this rate, they would never find her. The navy had already searched over a dozen ships.

Jason nuzzled his face into the crook of his arm, praying Annabeth could manage to be as ruthless as the pirates she would face, she _was_ facing. His electric eyes fluttered shut, his mind falling victim to exhaustion, and his subconscious dragging him into a nightmare he worried would become reality for a second time.

He was in his living room. He didn't know how he'd gotten there. He stood up and peered around the wide room. It felt familiar, but he was sure he'd never seen it before. His toy, a small wooden sword carved deftly from a piece of Birchwood, was chipped, splinters exposing its interior.

There was something ominous to the curve of the sword but before he could reach out and investigate the strange feeling, he heard a loud sob break out behind him. He turned and found his mother slumped in a flimsy wooden chair, her head angled towards the burning stove.

Her shoulders shook and the minuscule movement sent a shiver of fear slinking down the vertebrae of his spine, trickling into his fingertips and urging him forward. He tapped on his mother's shoulder, but she didn't turn. She didn't even recognize him, just continued to cry into the palms of her hands, her blonde hair spilling dangerously lose to the open flame.

"Mom," he called meekly. He wanted to reach for her but he was short—he was too short—he was barely four feet tall—

"How could you let this happen?" a voice suddenly hissed behind him.

Jason jumped at the abrupt interruption. He turned to face his father.

"Papa," he pressed, tears stinging his eyes. "Why's mommy crying?"

"I didn't _let_ it happen," his mother yelled from behind him, her voicing cracking unevenly as it rose.

"Mommy—"

"You were supposed to be watching her—"

"Mommy—" Jason tried again. They were ignoring him. They never ignored him. Perhaps they simply couldn't see him. He reached out and attempted to cling to his father's leg, but every time he took a step closer to the older man, he was farther away than he'd priorly been.

Jason groaned, his mind spinning from the setting, his head throbbing from the shouting ricocheting off the walls of their small kitchen.

"There was nothing I could have done!" Jason's mother screeched. Her face was blotched with red, angry tears rushing down her cheeks.

"You were supposed to protect her!" Zeus boomed, advancing rapidly on the blonde. "You were responsible for—"

"Do _not_ blame this all on me," Beryl retorted. "We are _both_ her parents. We are _both_ responsible—"

"Were," Jason's father seethed, stepping forward and grasping her wrists harshly.

"Papa—" Jason screamed, unable to control his own tears as he watched the man threaten his mother.

"We _were_ her parents, we _were_ responsible for her," Zeus spat angrily. "She's gone now. She is no longer—"

"Who's gone?" Jason queried desperately, his eyes flicking between his parents.

He watched his father swallow thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. His mother's lips pulled into a haunting grimace as a shuddering breath left her lungs.

"There was nothing I could have done," Beryl maintained, her uneven breath spilling into the air.

"I don't believe you," Zeus countered, pressing her wrists brusquely against her chest.

"There was nothing—"

"I don't _believe_ you!" Zeus cut her off with a savage shout, throwing her back against the stove. Her hair found the flame. The heat languidly crawled up the delicate strands until they fell to ash.

"Mom!" Jason shrieked.

Then she was ash, collapsing into the summer air, dancing on the breeze.

"Mom," he gasped as he shot up abruptly, waking suddenly from his less than pleasant sleep. "Fuck," he groaned softly when he hit his forehead on the low ceiling above him. "Fuck," he repeated softly as he settled back into the hammock, trying and failing to wipe his mind clean of any traumatizing images.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, pushing until he saw stars. The pain momentarily distracting him from his anxiety, letting the memory of the reason he was here, the reason he couldn't sleep, the reason he was plagued with nightmares slip from his mind.

The young man took a deep breath and swung himself out of his sleeping area, the troubling head of long dark hair replaced with golden curls.

OoOoO

"Prepare to fire," Octavius warned, his eyes narrowed towards the pirate ship parallel to them.

Soldiers shuffled into position, lining up one behind the other. Jason positioned his gun, aiming for the unsuspecting ship.

"On my count," the general commanded, holding up a hand in case some the navy soldier in the back couldn't hear him.

Jason directed his loaded arquebus towards a figure standing awkwardly on the front deck, seemingly attempting to configure the pirates into some kind of attack formation.

This would be easy. Jason's icy gaze flickered over the surrounding soldiers, all mimicking his position. It was too easy. The pirates were clearly unprepared for an attack. They had not expected interruption, had done nothing to provoke aggression.

The blonde's mouth went dry at the realization that they had corner yet another ship that most likely did not hold Annabeth.

"Damn it," he sighed, his head falling onto his chest.

"Fire," Octavius directed, bring his arm down in a sharp cutting motion.

Gunshots rang out through the salt-tinged air, the smell of fire and blood and steel corrupting senses.

Once victorious, they searched the pirate ship for nearly an hour. Annabeth wasn't on the ship. He should have known, he _did_ know, but he didn't say anything.

His finger twitched through the night, a bloodless simulation.

OoOoO

"Fire on my mark," Octavius commanded, his movements a shadow of violence, of every godforsaken day on this ship.

Jason pointed his loaded weapon towards a fuzzy figure in the distance. He considered, momentarily, that if Annabeth _were_ on the ship, they might accidentally shot her, unable to recognize her from a distance.

"Sir," he spoke up, setting down his weapon to address the general. Octavius turned towards him with blistering eyes.

"Soldier?" the general returned, his jaw tensed dangerously.

"Perhaps we should consider the possibility that a soldier might accidentally hit the duchess, sir?" Jason suggested, his voice terse, his posture stiff.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Octavius spat, his gaze suspicious and the curve of his lips unforgiving. "You're a good soldier, Grace. Do not let sympathy poison you."

"Yes, sir," Jason nodded. He retook his position. A shred of hope, of honor, of _humanity_ shattering somewhere deep within him as he pushed aside the thought and did what he'd been taught, killed as he'd been taught.

The general signaled and violence boomed across the ship, blood— _righteous_ blood, surely—spilling, staining the cedar.

Jason's digit ghosted over the trigger. He shifted his finger and pulled. He felt the explosion rocket through the barrel, punching him in the hardened shoulder. He licked his lips, watching men fall before the ruby sunset, and reached to reload his weapon.

OoOoO

"On my mark," the general commanded. Jason didn't hear him, only saw his lips move. It didn't matter. He would have known had he been deaf, having memorized the gestures, the curve of Octavius's lips when he launched orders. It was a variation on a theme. The same every time, every day—

Except, something felt different this time. Perhaps it was their proximity to land that had allowed birds to glide above them, perhaps the strange clouds that had painted the sky pink.

Or perhaps, it was simply the fact that Jason was growing tired, losing hope after almost a week of searching. The network holding him together was bound to break soon, and he would fall with it.

Jason swallowed thickly and bit his tongue as the soldiers positioned themselves for an offensive attack. He watched with bated breath as their general conferred with a pair of pirates. A shallow exhale slipped from his lips at the sight of angered motions, of rapidly moving lips and twitching fingers.

Then, in no time, the discussion was over, any barely offered pleasantries seized.

"Sink it," the general ordered his men, his eyes sweeping over the ship opposite to them.

"But sir—" Jason tried to argue.

"Do as you are told, Grace!" the Octavius hissed.

"What if the Duchess is on board, sir?" he attempted again, only to receive a seething glare.

"It's a risk we have to take," his general fired back, a mocking edge to his tone. "I follow the King's orders, not the worries of a _child_."

The blonde's jaw clenched at the comment. Forcing himself not to speak, he nodded curtly to his superior and took his spot in the formation once again.

"I said _sink it_ ," Octavius yelled, his voice booming over the huddled men who had been momentarily distracted by Jason's interruption. "Now!"

The blasts of war erupted across the ship's deck, the blasts having become somewhat akin to the light pitter-patter of falling rain.

Jason positioned himself, aimed, and shot, the last of his hope bleeding out onto the deck in the midst of a rain of fire, trickling through the minuscule cracks between boards and catching somewhere damp and dark.

OoOoO

It only took an hour of continuous gunfire and two well-placed cannon balls for the pirate ship opposite to them to fall apart. Jason watched from afar as the ship shuddered and quaked, threatening to collapse into the relentless ocean.

"I require two search team," the general called out, carefully scanning over the tired men. "Volunteers?"

Jason stepped forward, volunteering in an instant. He saw four or five other men do the same.

"I suppose that number will do," Octavius decided, his blonde hair falling into his vision in sharp little triangles. "You three," he pointed, "will search the bow. The others will undertake the stern." The general wordlessly signaled to several of his men, directing them to prepare the ship's ropes. "You have fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir," they all responded in unison. With a minute inclination of his head, Jason met the eyes of the soldiers within his party. He nodded and strode forward, slightly sick when they followed in a single file line.

Together they marched, unquestioning, to the edge of the ship. The blonde stepped forward first yet again, offering himself. A comrade nodded and handed him the thick rope tied high up in the rafters. Jason grasped the cable, the coarse hair digging into his rough palms, threatening to tear at the skin. Still, he tightened his grip, ignoring the dread curling its fingers around his heart and squeezing.

He pulled back, and, with a running start, he leaped from the ship. Then he was flying, soaring through the air, the breeze pleasantly cool against the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Once everyone had successfully boarded the pirate ship, the men divided up the ground they had to cover and went their respective ways.

Other than the sporadic twitch of a limb, there was no movement on board. Jason's gaze swept over the dead bodies that littered the ground, considering their still features just long enough to identify them, to assure himself none of them was his childhood friend.

He tried to go fast but there were so many bodies, some of them with deceptively golden hair or perky curls. There was so much blood, the long-range weapons having easily torn through the skin and blasted their insides to smithereens.

He should not pity them. He _didn't_ pity them. He—

They had taken his sister all those years ago. They had snatched her in the middle of the town market. He had never said goodbye, had been so young that he hadn't grasped the severity of the situation when his mother told him, sobs racking her body.

She had never been the same after that day. She'd trudged to his room and knocked pitifully on the door, so soft he thought it might the stray cat he'd learned to care for.

 _She's gone_ , she'd whispered, shaking from the gravity of it all.

 _Who_ , he'd questioned, his nails eating at the scratchy fabric of his pillow.

She didn't speak a word to him for a week after that, answering him in meek nods and resigned gestures. She drank herself into a stupor, her soul seemingly lost among the apple stand where she'd lost sight of the dark-haired girl.

She and his father never spoke more than to fight after that day. There was a silent hostility to their interaction, and he always found himself holding his breath. So he'd enlisted, desperately seeking an escape.

And then, one day, one marvelous, soul-saving day, he'd met _her_.

Annabeth Chase.

It was June. He was almost ten. There were children playing in the sun, but she stood aside, watching them with a curious, careful eye. He'd met her gaze, and she'd sharpened hers.

She was only twelve years old, slender and strangely stiff. He'd never met a child so serious. She took everything with a grain of salt, preferring to make her own judgments rather than rely on others.

They never spoke a word, no, only conversed through looks. She had an ability to communicate an indescribable feeling, an intangible thought, with the briefest of looks. It had amazed him then, it still did now.

Over the next few years, they developed a silent respect between the pair, a nameless understanding. And, in the absence of sound, he found himself learning more about the strange girl.

She was fiercely independent, expertly able to craft situations to her benefit, it was that reason it had always seemed strange to him that she was always trailed by advisors. They leaned forward at dinner and whispered in her ears, spilling secrets and gossip, but she remained impassive, her penetrating stare flickering imperceptively.

There was an undeniable art to her carefully controlled mannerisms.

When she stared—her eyes flashing the scene before her, absorbing the details—women shrunk beneath her piercing gaze - feet shifting beneath silken gowns and breath catching; men shuddered believing, or rather desiring it to be, it the slightest inclination of amorous intent. They shuffled forward with outstretched arms, unknowingly exposed to the harshest of her manipulations.

When she walked—deliberately placing one foot in front of another, dance rather than a saunter—Kings and Queens looked upon her with approval, noting the natural poise of ever perfectly placed step; ladies and noblewoman alike stepped aside, whether it compliant with the decree or not, conversations dropping to whispers before finally melting into simpering smiles.

When she sat—her ankles crossed, spine straight as queen—her advisors smiled, a sentiment somewhere between triumph and pride hidden in deep in the dark of their irises; Dukes gazed upon her, hoping to draw her affections, to be offered the privilege of courtship, unbeknownst to the great ambitions that lie behind her fluttering lashes, just on the horizon.

When she danced—her feet barely ghosting the floor in delicate, well-placed steps—the privy counsel muttered amongst each other, their gazes carefully trained on her figure, judging her waltz and finally deeming it appropriate; the Prince stared, his lips curving into a smirk and his tongue dipping out to dampen his lips, admiration smoothed into his features.

But, perhaps none of her actions were as impactful as when she spoke. When she spoke—lips curling around vowels, a capitating glimpse of utter conviction—and dedication and persistence and valor and dignity and spirit and _her_ —flickering across the violent gray of her eyes, a bolt of lightning caught somewhere between fascinating and terrifying— _all_ would fall silent, gazing, staring, gawking, they're eyes widening marginally at the serene severity with which she spoke, swallowing thickly at the underlying venom to her words, then wonder, glancing around the room, if they'd imagined it.

And, after it all, her eyes would like up with badly hidden pride. Then she'd sit down, and she'd stare, and she'd stand, and she'd dance, and she'd speak and -

She would enthrall her audience, dizzying them with the sheer beauty of it all, with the hidden elegance and poise to her every movement.

Jason, like so many others, found himself unhealthily enchanted by the young Duchess. Yet, she and Jason did not share a word until the eve of her 17th birthday.

 _It's strange, is it not,_ she had pondered softly, _how people celebrate surrounded by individuals they do not know._

And he turned, thinking she misspoke. Her brows lacked the expected furrow, her aspect missing lines of worry, but her eyes, there was something about her eyes, a forlorn glint that told of a hidden fragility.

 _Strange indeed_ , he responded covertly.

He supposed, in retrospect, that was the day he began to notice her small, virtually undetectable leanings, the signs that perhaps she was suffering from the isolation as he was.

He returned to his quarters that night and fell into bed. And as he stared up at the bottom of a cott, he found himself picturing the Duchess, not in heat as he had before, but painting her wearing the blank look, the compliant smile, the golden dress, the flickering gaze, the terribly desolate eyes—

It appeared her family had chosen not to accompany her to the castle, had chosen not to support her. He wondered why, then it struck him just how little he knew of the girl, how little _anyone_ knew of her. Over the next few weeks, he'd gathered information, a pocketing a whisper here, a muttering there.

Annabeth Helen Chase, named to garner the God's favor, named after most beautiful women ever to live, in commemoration of father's beginnings. She was the long-lost daughter of Chiron Chase, risen hero, and Athena Hungary, fallen regent. The secluded King of Albany had reinstated her title upon her reappearance, granting her right to her family lands, and wishing her a promising marriage. She was the young Duchess of Tenebri, a land in midst of a massive rebellion, fighting off rebels from all sides if accounts relayed the information accurately.

She was a duchess. She had but one rank to climb, but without blood to offer, an alternative appeared.

She was betrothed over the last summer of her seventeenth at the Prince's repeated request. The wedding was to occur in two months, just after her eighteenth, but a series of massive storms suddenly struck and the kingdom found themselves depleted. The ceremony was to be extravagant, lavish and exorbitant, with everyone in the land in attendance—Luke had insisted it be so.

It had been her idea to delay it, at first a few months, just until the kingdom had recovered from the squall, but it quickly became a year as the Prince desired all other courts be represented, only to find they did not wish to travel in the cold aftermath of the wreckage.

It was the night that her betrothal was announced—he could only assume it had been in clandestine negotiations among tight circles for months—that he found her outside, her fingers gripping the edge of the stone wall, her shoulder shaking.

 _Your grace_ , he'd whispered and seen her torso rise, her diaphragm stretching with a deep inhale. _Are you alright, ma'am?_

 _Perfect_ , she'd bitten back, turning slowly to face him.

At sixteen, Jason had only served in one battle. He had found the bloodshed sickening but accepted the words of his superior, _it is necessary_. He thought he had seen violence in its truest form, but the raw brutality he had witnessed was no match for the utter ambition reflected in her red-rimmed eyes—the clash of ruby and gold, of blood and blade.

It terrified him, but he had never known violence to be so beautiful.

It was ironic, he supposed, looking back today with an inadvertent smile, that that was the day their friendship began.

"Annabeth!" Jason called loudly then went silent, listening intently for any movement. Nothing, he heard nothing. "Annabeth!" he continued, rushing through the short, narrow hallway of the kitchen.

Then he heard it, motion. It was barely anything, a faint scuffle through the wall, but it was something.

"Annabeth!" he yelled, turning swiftly on his heels to follow the sound. He trailed the soft scraping and quiet thumping until he reached the captain's quarters. He reached for the knob, his hand curling harshly around the curve of the metal, his fingers helplessly digging into the material, stiff with anticipation.

It was locked. Jason blinked, his lips parting dumbly at the unexpected occurrence. He removed his gun from his shoulder and stepped back, aiming for the lock. He squinted, his vision narrowing.

"Stay away from the door, Annabeth," he warned, finding the perfect angle. He heard rushing footsteps then silence.

The blonde licked his lips before shifting his finger over her trigger, allowing it to find its practiced notch. He breathed, tensed his shoulder, and shot. The bullet tore through the wood, sending splinters flying. Jason ignored the sinking feeling at the sight and instead rushed forward. He threw his weapon over his shoulder and kicked open the door.

"Annabeth—" he said, relief flooding his features before he absorbed the figure before him.

She was brunette with vivid colors woven into jagged hair and dark skin. She was—she was not Annabeth.

He parted his lips, tempted to ask after the Duchess, but he feared her answer, for what if she _had_ been aboard the ship, what if she —what if _they_ —

The ship beneath them keened, emitting soft bubbling noises that were nowhere near safe.

Jason's broke his train of thought to quickly appraise the girl before him. It was then he noted the glinting metal in her hand, the aggressive positioning of her fingers.

She was a pirate, he realized suddenly. He had thought her a prisoner, a replica of the blonde he had sought so hard to find. She was dangerous. She had robbed him of his beloved sister. She had crushed his mother. She had torn apart his father. She had forced him to seek refuge in aggression and violence. She was a pirate. She was disgusting. She killed people, women and children. She—

She was standing before him, the blade shifting in her hand.

She was dangerous. She was not to be trusted. He should kill her. He was going to kill her. But—

But—

But—

But there was something in her eyes, a glint he recognized from his ninth summer, from a sunny June day, from a shared glance.

He held out his hand. "Come with me," he breathed, surprised at the gruffness of his own voice.

He watched her swallow, her shimmering eyes lingering on his exposed weapon before catching on the gesture.

"Please," he rasped.

* * *

a/n: so obviously, for the umpteenth time, I'm sorry that this is late. I was gonna excuse myself bc of the length but barely 4000 so can't really use that, anymore. I'm sure yall are tired of hearing it, but, honestly, I am just sooo overwhelmed with school. IAs are the fucking worst.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. There was some needed exposition about Jason and Annabeth's background. They were not romantically involved at all, even if he did have a little crush at the beginning.

Also, something to keep in mind. Even tho this is written in 3rd person, it's not omniscient , therefore you can assume we have a bit of an unreliable narrator as the story reflects what the characters in question know about each other. In simpler terms, Jason's history of Annabeth's isn't necessarily accurate.

Welp, hope the story is getting interesting. I am intrigued, and I already know all the twists and turns.

iCiao!


	7. Contradictions

Chapter Seven

Contradictions

Annabeth sighed in relief, wiping her hands down. She paced towards Nico, ignoring the loud clicking of her short heels on the wood. She had been working with the dark-haired boy for nearly five days and found she still knew very little about him. The two never shared more than a few words here and there, and even those were of directional nature.

Annabeth, however, having never considered silence an overcomeable impediment, had immediately set herself to work in analyzing his gestures, his tendencies, small idiosyncrasies that might clue her into the larger whole.

He scowled when speaking to a certain blonde pirate. His eyes shone when he faced the captain. His tone became marginally more severe when discussing the stern beams. His gaze followed her, discreetly noting each and every careful step of hers when she returned to the captain's quarters every night.

Despite these minuscule notes, Annabeth found herself unable to piece together the puzzle without more—more gestures, more information, more background, more knowledge of pirates, more, more, more.

Annabeth considered this desire—her absolute need to understand, to thoroughly comprehend exactly where her calculations had gone wrong, where she had misjudged pirates, where she had misjudged _these_ pirates—as she made her way back to her sleeping quarters—well, the _captain's_ sleeping quarters.

The blonde could feel a pair of dark eyes locked on her back as she walked away, a certain edge of wariness slackening on the clinical curve of her spine. She turned into the small hallway leading to the captain's quarters, but before proceeding any further, she rolled out her shoulder and relaxed her fingers.

Her whole life, Annabeth had worked. At a young age, she had fought to be chosen by Chiron—or rather her parents had inscribed her, and she had fought not to disappoint. At the age of ten, she had learned to act, to walk, to speak, to dance, to _breath_ like a monarch—like a _proper_ duchess. When she was only days from twelve, she had been introduced to the prince and had immediately begun inwardly noting his inclinations, his aspirations, his motives. At fifteen, she had solidified her place at court, impressing even her own advisors with her tenacity.

She was halfway to seventeen when the prince finally took interest in her. Annabeth never fought for anything so hard in her life, never worked more determinedly than she did to ensure his affections. At eighteen she had bewitched not only Luke but the privy council and the royal family as well. All her life, from infancy to maturation, Annabeth had fought and kicked and screamed and _danced_ to achieve her ambitions.

She had worked her entire life, but she had never worked like _this_. Sure, Jason had taught her to defend herself and to use a weapon, but she had never been forced to partake in such brutish activities as these. Ropes, beams, and sails—surely there was a more efficient way to manage the three aspects.

Perhaps she'd invent one and have it built into the naval ships. It would certainly strengthen the empire, _her_ empire.

Annabeth had struggled her entire life, and, though she had often fallen into bed exhausted and irritated, she had never felt like _this_.

She ached, fucking _ached_. Her limbs felt as though they were filled with lead, her feet were splintered and sore, her fingers were rope bitten, and the tip of her nose stung from the sun.

This physical pain was new, different from the psychological warfare the blonde had continuously waged within the enclosed walls of the castle. She supposed it was ironic, in a way, that she was forced to battle for the power to halt all battles, all wars.

 _Fight fire with fire._

She weighed the idiom momentarily. No, she determined, fire was best fought with water, violence best fought with words, words best fought with well-kept secrets—

Annabeth swallowed back any last minute qualms and straightened her posture, determined to hide any stress from the arrogant captain. She reached to open the door to the captain's quarters, and just as her fingers curled around the knob, an abrasive voice reached her ears.

The blonde held her breath, arching a brow delicately as she tilted her head to better hear the argument seemingly occurring behind the closed door.

"I don't care—" the captain hissed only to be cut off by a gruff voice.

"But your men do," the man insisted. "They're confused and—"

"Then _let_ them be confused," the captain laughed, the sound was cruel and cold, not unlike Luke's. "I act in the best interest of the Argo II," he asserted. "I have _always_ acted to ensure the Argo II—"

"But Captain—"

"Do you doubt my ability to put the safety of the ship ahead of my own interests?" The captain's voice had dropped so low Annabeth could barely make out his words. She closed any distance between herself and the door, pressing her ear to the painted wood. "Have I _ever_ failed my men before?"

"Of course not, Captain," the man admitted after a beat, audibly remorseful.

"Then I suggest you inform the rest of the crew of my position," the captain pressed. "And if their _ideas_ persist, I suppose they will have to be taken _care_ of."

Annabeth swallowed at the implications of the captain's words, the suggestion a surprising boon to her confidence. She had thought herself in foreign waters, unfamiliar to her surroundings, but political games were being played even at sea, even among the most brutal and uneducated of men.

She should have realized she would never stop dancing, spinning stories, navigating minefields. The players had changed, but the game was the same—the game was _always_ the same.

In her musings, Annabeth failed to notice when silence fell over the room. It was only when the loud scuffling of boots on wood broke her train of thought that she realized how close she was to being discovered.

The blonde trod backward lightly, not wanting her footsteps to give her away. She was barely hidden in the shadow of the hallway when the door swung open and out walked a tall blonde pirate with scraggly hair. She held her breath as he moved towards her only to have him stop halfway and turned back around.

He stalked back into the captain's quarters and despite Annabeth's insatiable curiosity being peaked, she resisted and took the opportunity to leave the hallway completely. She heard the captain and the pirate share a few more heated words but found herself caring very little as she made her escape, disappearing into the moonlight.

Annabeth, desperate to put a believable distance between her and the door, rushed back, her eyes stuck on the hallway she had just emerged from. In her haste, however, she only worsened her position by running into someone.

She turned, her breath faltering, and caught sight of inky choppy hair.

"Lost?" the pirate, Thalia, sneered, looking the girl up and down.

"No," Annabeth replied shortly, her chin held high.

"Good," Thalia scoffed. "Because you have no business on this ship."

The blonde blinked, noting a threatening undertone to the pirate's words.

"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I never said I did," the duchess sniffed, and, before the Thalia could reply, she stalked in the direction of the hallway from which she had just emerged.

She walked deliberately slow, taking her time as to not clash with the participants of the argument she'd heard earlier. This time, when she reached the captan's quarters, there were no shouts permeating the air. She wrapped her fingers around the knob and turned without hesitation, the creak of the door breaking the silence.

Annabeth sighed, her eyes caught on the bed—the dirty, disgusting pirate cott. It looked fucking amazing. She could hardly contain a wanton whine at the enticing sight. She stepped forward, her toes searching for the heels of her shoes to pry them off. She was so tired. She'd never admit it out loud, but gods she was exhausted and the bed—that fucking _bed_ —looked soft and pillowy and—

"The captain isn't here," a voice suddenly entered her blissful dreams of rest.

Annabeth whipped her head to the left to find a blonde pirate standing by the captain's desk, the same pirate she had witness fighting with the captain earlier. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs in a wide intimidating stance. He was confident. He thought she was weak, thought she was _less_.

He was wrong.

"Why are _you_ here then?" she inquired innocently, careful to keep her eyes in the shadow of her lashes so he would not see her roving pupils.

"Captain asked me to grab him something," he responded casually, his fingers tightening marginally. He was lying, she could tell. She could always tell.

"And what did he ask you to _grab_?" she mocked, condescension bleeding into her rounded vowels.

"That's none of your business, princess," the pirate derided. He uncrossed his arms and turned back towards the desk.

In two long, graceful strides, Annabeth had reached the study. He picked up a meaningless piece of parchment and swiveled on his heel just as she arrived. His forearm roughly knocked her shoulder, momentarily throwing her off balance.

"Watch it," he growled, peering down at her with a patronizing smile. His lips curled up at the corners but his nose scrunched up. It was a look Annabeth had not seen in ages, the look she had fought against. It was the look with which a vain king looked at his starving subjects, the look Luke wore when she'd pointed out the beauty of weeds.

"You watch it," Annabeth answered heatedly—not thinking, she wasn't thinking, why didn't she just _think?_ —She knew why. She would have needed to be hopelessly oblivious to reality _not_ to know—she hated that look, absolutely loathed it. She was better than him. She fucking knew it. If not by blood then by intellect, by ferocity, by _tenacity_.

"What did you say to me?" the man asked curtly, his lips twisting in disbelief. He hunched his shoulders over and lowered his face to hers as posed the question.

"What were you looking for among the captain's things?" Annabeth prompted once more, resisting the urge to cringe at the hot, foul breath spilling across her neckline.

"I already told you," the pirate spat, his eyes narrowing. "It's none of your _business_ —"

"But if you were—" she didn't get to finish her counterargument, the pirate already had his fingers wrapped around her small wrist. Annabeth gasped but otherwise did not make any sound of pain, not wishing to acknowledge the power he held over her physically.

"A strange _servant_ you are," the pirate taunted. "Considering how positively _uncivilized_ you are—"

"And surely _you_ 'd know—" Annabeth retorted sharply, failing to consider the consequences of speech for the second time.

She was angry—her face hot and her breath heavy and her cheeks red—She never made sensible decisions when angry—No, that was entirely untrue. Annabeth had been angry the majority of her life and had still managed to fight her way to the top of the social ladder. Her whole life—her whole fucking life—she had existed in a state of cold, clammy anger, the type that made one freeze where they stood and caused them to clench their teeth—No, this anger was different. This was hot. It was hot and sharp and scorching and _different._ It made her impulsive, made her senseless.

It was dangerous.

And it made _her_ dangerous—for all the wrong reasons.

The shaggy-haired pirate pulled her roughly towards him, twisting her wrist in the process. She bit her tongue to fight the scream threatening to give her away. Her lips, tightened into a tight line to restrain any involuntary sounds when a cutting voice materialized behind her.

"C'mon, Sam," Annabeth heard the seemingly omnipresent pirate she'd run into earlier call. "Let the girl go."

The pirate— _Sam_ , apparently—flicked his eyes over the blonde's shoulder, shuttering slowly at the opposition pressed into the dark-haired girl's features.

"Thalia," he grunted in response. "This is none of your concern—"

"She's precious cargo," the bright-eyed pirate cut in, her tone bordering on snarky. "Captain wouldn't want you to damage her."

Well, at least she was _her_ , not _it_ or _that_. It could be worse, she supposed.

"I'm _not_ hurting her," the pirate returned, his grip loosening marginally. Thalia's eyes flickered to Annabeth's wrists dubiously. "I was just teaching her a lesson. She—"

"That's not your job," Thalia asserted, rolling her eyes.

"Then whose is it?" Sam spat, quickly growing frustrated with the line of questioning.

"That's none of the fucking business—"

"Really because it seems like the captain is letting his ship—"

"That's the _captain's_ problem—"

"And if he can't handle—"

"If you honestly believe that," Thalia seethed, taking a dangerous step towards him, daring him to counter the move. "Then you need to get the fuck off this ship."

The night was silent except for the melodic crashing off the waves against the ship's flanks, but the quiet was anything but calm; tension swelled in the stillness, and pressure strained the boards beneath their feet.

"Is he hurting you?" Thalia asked finally, her eyes flicking lazily to the blonde before returning to the tensed man before her.

"No," Annabeth bit out, not wanting to appear weak in front of a pirate who had just reprimanded her for not _belonging_ —as if she _wanted_ to, as if it was something to be _desired,_ to find companionship among pirates, among thieves and rapscallions. It was utterly ridiculous, positively ludicrous.

Thalia pursed her lips, looking annoyed. It pleased the blonde, perhaps more than was healthy.

"See?" Sam's teeth gritted in victory.

"Doesn't matter," Thalia sighed, waving off Annabeth's admission. "Give her to me," she held out a hand, challenging Sam's grip. "I'll deal with her insubordination."

"What are you going to do to her?" Sam demanded, seemingly eager to pry the gruesome details from the dark-haired girl.

"For the last time," the female pirate asserted, rolling her eyes. "It's none of your the fucking concern." She snatched Annabeth's arm from him, surprising the duchess with her agility. "You manage the lower decks, _everything else_ is not your domain—besides, I stand above you on this ship so stand down—"

"I will never be inferior to—" Sam began to scowl, stepping back only to be interrupted.

"Don't finish that sentence," Thalia advised in a soft but ominous voice. "You be sorry otherwise—"

The pirate was silent as the dark haired girl dragged Annabeth to her chest, holding her tight by the wrist.

"You can leave now," Thalia revealed patronizingly.

Sam turned and left, his jaw tense and his teeth audibly grinding as he slammed the door behind him.

"I didn't need your help," Annabeth remarked harshly after a beat of raised quiet following Sam's exit.

"Looked like it," Thalia sneered, dropping the blonde's arm and stepping towards the captain's desk.

"I can stand up for myself," the duchess asserted firmly. "I have my whole life, this is no different."

The pirate was mute for a second, her eyes scanning the paperwork laid out across the desk. Annabeth was momentarily fascinated by the dexterity with which her pupils examined the area.

" _This_ is no different, you say," Thalia repeated slowly. "You mean this _pirate_ ship is no different than your living in a castle?"

"Well—" Annabeth began, weighing her words

"What a strange castle you must have stayed in, Miss Evans," the pirate muttered, a sly tilt to her expression that worried the blonde.

"All I mean," Annabeth amended quickly, noting the spike in suspicion, "is that there is a similar tense political atmosphere."

"I'm sure," Thalia accepted with a slight nod of her head, indicating her disbelief with a slow flutter of her short dark lashes.

"Thalia!" a familiar deep voice suddenly boomed through the doorway. "Where the fuck did you—oh."

"Oh indeed," the dark haired girl mocked, nudging the duchess forward. "It appears your precious _servant_ has found herself in an ill-disposed interaction with Sam—oh, and yours truly."

Percy's eyes flicked to where his fellow pirate restrained the blonde by her wrists. He observed their body positions, considering the details for a moment before speaking.

"Sam was in here?" he questioned, and Annabeth found herself surprised by his disregard for the alleged hostility

"Yes," Thalia responded.

"Well—" Percy urged, exasperated, "what was he doing?"

"Don't ask me," the pirate said plainly, "ask her."

Annabeth felt her mouth go unusually dry as both their bright eyes landed on her—she wondered if the light colors were a byproduct of the sun, raised levels of vitamin D.

"He was standing by your desk when I came in," the blonde explained without question. "He appeared to be searching for something."

"That's all you saw?" the captain inquired, his eyes lost in thought.

"Yes," Annabeth answered, swiftly licking her lips in an attempt to return moisture to her skin. "And when I questioned him further he revealed nothing."

"Mh," Percy acknowledged, his fingers coming up to curl around his chin.

The blonde examined him as he contemplated. The captain had dark circles under his eyes, barely there wrinkles below his eyes—from laughing she guessed, she wondered if she'd develop them as well—his dark hair was sunkissed at the tips, bleached by golden rays. He was wearing a billowy white shirt that flattered his skin, making it appear bronze, or golden perhaps. He looked tired, his scruff more defined than usual along the sharp line of his jaw.

She queried as to what had affected him so.

"You may leave," the captain stated suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.

Annabeth glanced awkwardly at him, wondering if she should leave. Before she could ask, Thalia let go of her wrist, allowing it to fall back at her side.

"But I need to speak to you, Captain," the pirate protested, moving towards the dark-haired man.

"Not now, Thalia," he shook his head, a slow flutter of his eyelids confirming Annabeth's conclusion—he _was_ tired, and extensively so it appeared.

"Captain—" she tried again. "Percy, it's important."

"Please, Thals," the captain breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he angled his face upwards to meet the dark-haired girl's eyes.

Annabeth was struck by the nickname. She hadn't heard before, not in her few days on board this pirate ship anyway. She had known the two pirates were close but had misjudged the level of their intimacy. She wondered if it was just that, _intimate_.

The thought left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue, she wasn't sure why.

"Fine," Thalia— _Thals_ —sighed. She cast Annabeth one last look of contempt before leaving, closing the door behind her with a decided thud.

"Are you sure you didn't see anything else?" Percy asked once she was gone, his half-lidded gaze falling on her.

"No." The blonde wondered if he'd pick up on the note, the lack of a double negative, the language of commoners, of _pirates_.

He did.

"You _did_ see something?" the captain rephrased, his eyes narrowing and ironically appearing more awake in doing so.

"He took something," Annabeth revealed surreptitiously, careful to make his stare.

"And _what_ did he take?" he asked, clearly frustrated with the inefficiency of the interaction.

Annabeth smirked. He would also grow angrier if he continued to hold her hostage aboard this ship.

"That," the blonde couldn't help but smile, "is something you'll have to earn."

"Excuse me?" Percy scoffed, taking a menacing step towards her.

"You heard me," Annabeth maintained, leveling her loaded gaze. "You might be Sam and _Thal_ 's captain, but you're not mine."

"You have a very interesting way of interacting with your superiors, Miss Evans," the captain accused after a beat. "Extremely unlike the demeanor of a mere servant as you have identified yourself."

Fuck, she really needed to get better at this docile servant thing.

"Do you doubt my story?" the blonde shot back, ignoring his slow steady step towards her.

"Never," he whispered, pretending to be taken aback by the question.

"Regardless," Annabeth pushed away the allegation. "I have a piece of information you desire, and I require something in return."

"And what is that?" the captain humored her.

"Protection."

"From what?" the captain sneered.

"You'd be surprised how easily I have created enemies aboard this ship," Annabeth began, the smooth syllables easily rolling off her tongue. "It's even easier off the ship."

"And what, pray tell, am _I_ supposed to do about the fact that you're unlikable?"

"A bed," the blonde snapped, ignoring his blow. "I need a safe place to rest, to change, to protect my fucking _dignity_."

"Your dignity," the captain seemed to sober as the soft slopes of his lips formed around the words.

"Yes," Annabeth nodded, blinking back wonder. "It's something important for even a lowly servant such as myself."

"All right," he confirmed, accepting the compromise with much less of a struggle than the duchess had anticipated. "I'll grant you your request. Now tell me, what did you see?"

"Not so fast, Captain," the blonde held out a hand. "I need more than—"

"I just told you," Percy emphasized. "You will be granted a bed and a room to yourself while on this ship—"

"Well, forgive me," Annabeth bit out, cutting him off as she stepped towards him, "if a pirate's assurances are not enough for me."

"What else do you want?" the captain gritted out.

"A plan," the blonde grinned, pleased she was getting her way so easily tonight—perhaps it was due to his apparent exhaustion. "Where will I be sleeping? Where will my room be? How soon will it be available to me—"

"You'll sleep here," Percy interrupted. "This will be your room, and it will be available to you from nightfall until dawn every day starting today."

Annabeth was silent for a moment, stowing away the information.

"He was carrying a piece of parchment," the blonde disclosed finally. "It was folded small, into four I believe. There appeared to be black ink on it."

"Thank you," he sighed, settling down into the chair by his study. She felt his skin brush hers as he passed and shuddered at the heat of his presence, at the tremble of the ground, at the sudden desire to wash herself.

Annabeth sat back against the bed, noting with a triumphant lilt that it was now hers. She watched as the captain hastily searched through piles upon piles of paper sitting on his desk. She kicked off her heels while he sought, hoping to urge him out of the room.

He didn't move, only continued looking.

The Duchess was suddenly struck with an insatiable curiosity to know what he was searching for so thoroughly. What was the captain hiding? What _could_ he be hiding? He had no state secrets, no knowledge of foreign affairs, no plans of patricide.

"What are you mapping?" she asked loudly, knowing full well it would provoke him.

The captain's head snapped back to look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Maps," Annabeth stated, her gaze shifting over him. "The images one follows in order to safely and efficiently arrive at their desired location."

"I know what maps are," Percy scowled. "What about them?"

"You tell me," the blonde countered, crossing her ankles primly. "You have books on cartology and notebooks riddles with rough drawings and scribbles that appear to be forming one larger picture."

"Where did a servant learn about cartology?" the captain snapped, his eyes narrowing suspiciously in her direction. "Why is it you claim you are a Lady but employ none of the characteristics of the ladies I have met—"

"Oh," Annabeth sneered. "Have you met _many_ ladies?

"I have met enough to know that _you_ ," he stood up from his chair and stepped towards her, dangerously close—again, "are _not_ one."

"If I am not a lady, then what am I, Captain?" the duchess queried, momentarily losing herself in the hot blood rushing through her veins and the pounding of her heart in her chest—in the heat, the scorching, blinding, heat coursing through her. She stood up, meeting him step for step.

"You think me unclever, Miss Evans," Percy began slowly, his breath—hot hot hot—ghosting over her mouth. "But your gravest mistake will come in underestimating me and my crew."

"Answer me, Captain," Annabeth requested, her indignant eyes staring up at him. "If I am not a lady, then what am I?"

"I have no answer," he revealed slowly. His fingers—rough and burning—came up to frame her chin, lifting her face slightly. She persisted, her gaze never faltering. "But your behavior is quite peculiar. You are by no means quiet or shy enough to be a servant, and a _Lady_ acts with much more subtlety than you."

Annabeth bit her tongue, feeling her jaw twitch under his fingertips.

"It would logically lead me to believe you are the lowest of the low, a simple thief who snuck into the castle and managed to finagle herself into an unfortunate situation. However, your actions are much too confident to strike me as those of a theif—a practiced thief, perhaps."

Annabeth scoffed, fighting a reaction when his tongue darted out from his mouth, unconsciously dampening his lower lip.

"But there is a much more sinister conclusion to be drawn. You are too weak to be a laborer, too uncouth to be a Lady, too outspoken to be a servant, too confident to be a theif—someone higher up then. Higher than a lady, but low enough that I have not heard your name across my travels—"

"Your theory," the blonde pushed at the man's chest, shoving him back, "is ludicrous."

The captain only grinned.

"Do you perceive me as weak, Captain?" Annabeth inquired, keeping her voice steady.

"I haven't _perceived_ you as anything, merely observed the obvious," he replied matter-of-factly.

"You told me not to underestimate you," the blonde recalled. "You assured me, it would be my _gravest_ of mistakes. Well, let _me_ assure _you_ that underestimating will not be a _mistake_ , it will be fucking _fatal_."

"Are you threatening me, Miss Evans?" Percy questioned, a sheen of incredulity shinning over the darkness below.

"Never," Annabeth chuckled hollowly. "But remember, Captain, we all have fatal flaws." She watched his pupils dilate, shifting to absorb her— _her_. "Don't let yours be me."

The blonde felt the tension reach its peak—felt the heat consume her, scorch her limbs and ignite her mind—and subside. She tilted her head mockingly, fixing him with her unabashed gaze.

"If you are my fatal flaw, Evans," the captain said finally, dropping her title and any prior air of cordiality. "Then what is yours?"

"Oh, Captain," Annabeth traced the curve of his shoulder with the movement of her wrist—" _Percy_ "—her fingertips dancing on the edge of the flames. "You can't possibly expect me to tell you."

"Of course, not," the captain laughed. The sound was deep, but it didn't meet his eyes, didn't make them crinkle at the corners—she wondered if she'd ever seen the skin fold for her. "I suppose I'll have to figure that one out myself."

"I suppose you will," the Duchess agreed.

Annabeth watched him eye her one last time before leaving without further dismissal. He was correct, she had underestimated him. She wouldn't make the mistake again.

The Duchess lay back in bed and undressed. Her fingers trembled as she unlaced her corset. She wasn't sure if it was a result of the adrenaline still flowing through her system or if it was the sudden realization that she had been moments from being discovered.

She shut her eyes and sighed. She was a duchess—a false duchess, but a duchess still—and she would not let anything, _any_ one _,_ compromise her mission.

* * *

a/n: yes, so obviously I was gone for a long ass time. So basically, here's what happened. I had a ton of stuff going on and missed a Thursday and was like, whatever, I'll just post next chapter the next Thursday. But then it was spring break and I left the country for like 10 days and everything got super muddled. After that, I was slammed with schoolwork because I had missed days of school for vacation and had a lot of tests and random shit to make up. Then I had to go to state like the following weekend so I had to prepare for that. _Then,_ after that whole ordeal, I got to where I am now, which is desperately trying to finish my online courses before the school deadline in order to fucking graduate. Like it's so dumb, I have to take a freshman class online to get my diploma.

Also, senioritis has been hitting me hard bc I've committed to college and, like, the chances of them residing that acceptance are astronomically low (unless I don't graduate bc of this stupid freshman credit). Finally, I have ib testing in May so all my teachers are hitting me with a ton of mock exams. Anyway, if you managed to read through all that rambling, here's the light at the end of the tunnel: After my ib exams end my time frees up immediately. Also, during the exams, I will be very very tempted to procrastinate and write instead of studying. This will most likely be bad for me but probably good for yall.

So, in conclusion, I know I always promise that I will be more reliable or that I am coming up on a break so will get to post, but the truth is I'm shit at predicting the future and predicting my own moods so unfortunately, I would not put a lot of weight into the promises I make. I am going to try to get back on the every Thursday schedule for Treason (excluding this week), I am hoping to finish Hotel Escape by like May 5th or something, and Funny Business should be resumed by mid-May.

Sidenote: I have decided to start dedications in my a/n's because when other authors do it it makes me happy. So this chapter today is dedicated to _Sapphiretrafficker_ because I know they're going through the same ib stuff as me and also the guest reviewer who took the time to review every chapter of Dumb Luck because your reactions made me genuinely smile.

iCiao!


	8. Easy

Chapter Eight

Easy

Piper didn't speak a word, her lips barely parting in disbelief at the sight of the navy soldier pleading before her.

The blonde man looked pale, a heavy head on a set of broad shoulders. His bright blue eyes shined with a sympathy she had thought unheard of among soldiers. Perhaps that was why she dropped her knife and took his hand, perhaps that was why she abandoned the small fortune she had slowly stolen and stowed from the captain, perhaps that was why she breathed in deeply and felt a strangely calming presence overtaking.

Regardless of why she'd done it, she took his hand, and he whisked her away. Throughout her childhood, Piper had read her sisters fairytales, stories of gallant knights and noblemen saving damsels in distress. At the time, she'd thought it cruel to allow them such naive delusions of love and escape. She, after all, had found herself in distress more times than she could count, and never, not once, had a chivalrous man come to rescue her from her unfortunate situation.

Piper was a bit ashamed to admit, even to herself, that for the briefest moment—when the navy soldier wrapped his fingers around her and pulled—she believed _he_ might be her knight, might be the man she had been waiting for. She had pondered the thought for a moment before realizing, with a sudden ominous pound of her heart, that men had only _ever_ caused her pain, had over _ever_ been a source of danger and instability in her life. She realized, like she had all those years ago, that she was alone in this conflict, and she would be forced to fight to the tooth and nail to ensure her sisters did not meet her same fate.

The blonde man captured Piper's hand with his and in an instant, he was dragging her out of the captain's quarters and up a small set of stairs and through the hollow wooden hallway and the kitchen and dining room she had come to fear and across the deck—

She didn't speak a word. Not when he led her into the room that had long plagued her nightmares, not when they tore past the bedroom she had been forced to stay in at the beginning of her stay. She didn't speak a word, didn't deign it necessary to acknowledge the terror she had faced on ships just like this one time and time again.

She didn't speak a word when she caught the eyes of the blonde man—the bright blue that seemed to inexplicably mimick the midday sky—or when they reached the edge of the deck. She didn't say anything when he wrapped his arm around her waist and bound himself to a frighteningly unstable rope. She didn't respond when he whispered _hold on_ or when their feet left solid ground and his grip on her tightened. She did not mutter or moan as her stomach flew, her lungs filling with a stuttered gasp.

Piper did not say one single word. Not when their feet touched the ground again, not when a soft, breathless _are you okay?_ swept across her cheekbone, not when a sarcastic, argumentative voice pierced her skin—"Great. You brought a prisoner."—not when her companion stiffened and answered—"I couldn't leave her, sir."—not even when the smug navy general took her by the chin, tilting her face to better gauge her value, before dropping it with a chuckle.

"You said you couldn't leave her," the general threw back at the blonde soldier. "Now you won't have to."

Piper's eyes darted to the man standing beside her, his fingers were twitching.

"She's your responsibility now," the general continued, his lips curling into an unpleasant sneer. "Put her in the hold and keep her there."

"Yes, sir," the blonde soldier nodded, his jaw visibly clenching below his scruff freckled skin.

Piper didn't speak as the man took her elbow with surprising care and tugged her towards away from the group. She didn't answer when he asked if her ship had carried Annabeth Chase, the Duchess of Tenebri, the future Queen, or when he assured her she had nothing to lose by telling the truth, only shook her head distantly.

Piper didn't speak, didn't open her mouth to do more than breathe until she reached the dank, dark room. She barely expired until the soldier had left her and she was alone amongst the barrels, her wrist fastened the heaviest.

Then she cried—she didn't sob, didn't howl or wail at the fates—allowing a soft, steady stream of tears to fall down the curve of her aspect.

OoOoO

Piper awoke to darkness. She could faintly detect the swell of waves crashing against the hull of the ship and reveled in the familiar sway.

The brunette picked herself up from where she lay, curled in a corner of the hold, and tucked her knees into her chest, permitting her chin to balance precariously on the slant of her knees. Her free hand traced meaningless patterns into the dirty wooden floor, entertaining her hopeless thoughts. Without someone or something to distract her, Piper found herself falling back into distant memories, memories she had hoped weren't as far away as they seemed.

As if it were yesterday, Piper saw herself sneaking past her parents' room. She once again saw the soft, yellow light billowing from the crack in the door and heard her name float into the hallway. She stopped, momentarily paused her movements to listen.

"Maybe if she wasn't so damn stubborn!" Piper heard her father whisper, but it wasn't like the whisper she'd known before. It wasn't a _good night_ whisper or an _I love you_ whisper, it wasn't even a _tell the truth_ whisper. No, this whisper was lined with explosives, a fuse waiting to be light.

"—your fault," her mother's shrill voice rang through the silence, her whisper not nearly as subtle as her father's. "I shouldn't have let you teach her all that rubbish about respect and modesty—"

"It's basic human decency," her father had hissed back. "Not that _you_ 'd know any of that."

The words were almost lost in the rush of Piper's blood, in the sharp inhale of her lungs, in the swallow she struggled to complete. She inched closer to the gap in the door, closer to the beam of light escaping their room.

"I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to," Piper's mother ground out.

"It doesn't matter," her father's voice grew softer, his tone more tender. "It's the only way we can—we can—"

"No," her mother reasoned, also lowering her voice, a serious undertone bleeding into her words. "Look at Drew—"

"Aphrodite—" he tried to interrupt but was unsuccessful.

"Drew is _perfectly_ happy," she snarled. "She made a life for herself. She managed to work past our circumstances—"

"That's a nice way of putting it," Piper's father sneered.

"Why can't Piper do the same?" Aphrodite questioned harshly, ignoring his jab.

"Because they _aren't_ the same," her father pressed, exasperation bleeding into his voice. "This—this is the only way," he added in barely more than a whisper, so softly Piper was forced to crane her neck. "I—I found a man. He said he'd take her."

If Piper's head hadn't spun wildly at his words and a wave of nausea hadn't rocked her body at the implications, she might have heard her father struggle to swallow and her mother heave in hopes of acquiring oxygen.

"We both know she won't go any other way," Piper's father continued, his voice trembling. "She's not like Drew. She won't survive. She won't go willingly—" he seemed to try to reason before Aphrodite cut him off, the integral question slipping from her lips.

"How much?"

"Enough."

Piper barely managed to swallow, her eyes burned, her mouth burned, her skin burned, her whole fucking body burned— _burned_.

"She leaves tomorrow."

And just like that, with three words, Piper was ice cold, her entire body doused in Antarctic waters.

"That's not _nearly_ sufficient time to prepare her," her mother protested suddenly, her voice audibly distressed. "Not enough time to—toa—"

"Say goodbye," he finished for her. "I know."

Piper could barely register what she'd heard. She was numb, stuck, unable to move. Her limbs had locked up and her blood had seemingly stopped flowing.

"How will we—how are we going to get her there?" her mother stuttered, seemingly choking on her own words, on the apathy with which she was asking.

"She won't go willingly." Her father— _Tristan_ , if she was nothing more than _she_ than he was nothing but _Tristan_ —voice wavered dangerously.

"Obviously," her mother retorted sharply, here words curling cruelly around Piper's hopes, around her last fragment of faith. "She wasn't trained for this. _You_ never let me train her, insisted on teaching her about _respect_ and _intregrity_ —"

"She was my daughter—"

"—knowing full well that this would be her future—that inevitably, one way or another, her position would doom her to the profession."

"Perhaps," Tristan hissed in reply, "I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to face—"

"You didn't want to face the _truth_?" her mother— _Aphrodite_ , not mom, just _Aphrodite_ —finished for him, a sneer carefully written into the vowels of her words. "Well, that's quite the excuse isn't it. You didn't want to see our family for what is it, didn't want to admit to your failure to provide for us—"

Piper couldn't take anymore. Her formerly immobile limbs were suddenly free from their constraints and she was running, her steps deceptively soft, her sobs caught in her throat. She was running, down the hallway and past the kitchen. She was running through the front door and the into the field that surrounded the place she had once called home, her pace unrelenting. She was running, not caring that she was barefoot or in her nightgown, feeling the frigid wind tuck its way into her skin, beneath her thin clothes.

Her head was spinning, warm images forcing themselves into her raw mind, images of her mother— _beauty is a virtue_ —of full lips and double meanings— _don't waste it_ —of her father— _men will fight for your_ —of wildflowers and bruises— _die for you_ —of her sister— _he loves me—_ of daisy chains and fairytales— _he loves me not_ —of harmless lies and naive promises—promises promises _promises_ —

Piper stopped.

Silena.

She couldn't leave her. She couldn't abandon her sister, she _wouldn't_ abandon her sister the way so many had before. Her family needed money, and if _selling_ her—Piper shuddered at the image—was the only way to accomplish that, then she would—Piper muffled a sob with her hand, unable to finish the thought.

So she ran, not away but back. She ran through the field of tall grass and blossoms, reminiscing about hot summer days and cool sweat licking the curve of her neck. She leaped across the small stepping stones, remembering fictitious worlds and naive fantasies, and reached the front door to the house—formerly her home.

Piper carefully wrapped her small fingers around the cold knob and turned, her quiet movements going unnoticed by the household. She covertly snuck up to her room but this time she didn't stop to listen when her parents' hushed voices reached her ears. Instead, she continued forward, padding to her shared bedroom, her line of sight caught on the small trail of soil she was leaving across their already dirty floor.

The brunette fell into her bed and collapsed into the stiff mattress, breathing in the stale, musty scent one last time

"Pipes," she heard a soft voice waft through the cold air. "Are you okay?"

Silena.

 _Silena_.

"I'm fine," Piper replied automatically, blinking back any remnants of tears. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Silena responded, though the groggy air of her tone spoke otherwise. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I pro— _promise_ ," the dark-skinned brunette replied, her breath catching on the intimate word. "Everything is going to be fine— _b_ _etter._ I promise."

"Good night, Pipes," her sister whispered as her eyes fluttered shut, breathing delicate dreams.

"Good night, Silena," Piper barely managed, turning her head to gaze at the sleeping beauty laying a few away from her. "I love you."

Her sister didn't reply, having dozed off. Regardless, it did not matter to Piper who continued speaking in a hushed tone, making promises she was determined to keep. She promised to come back, to save her from the same fate as her sisters, to teach her what it was to be beautiful, to teach her the dangers of lust and attraction. She promised to never forget, to always remember and could only hope her sister would do the same.

OoOoO

The constant creaking of the floorboards suddenly grew louder. Piper straightened up at the sign of an incoming visitor. She unknowingly yanked her arms forward, an inadvertent motion of defense. At the movement, her cuffed wrist caught on the restrained, eliciting a sharp pain.

Piper ripped her eyes from the wooden stairs were the creaking steps only grew louder and saw a thin line of blood trickling down towards the palm of her hand. The ruby ribbon spilled to the floor, tickling the pad of her middle finger as it fell. The brunette was briefly preoccupied with the way the scarlet dipped into the cracks between the boards but was quickly pulled from her train of thought at the loud voice that entered the room.

Piper picked her head up, inhaling sharply as a blonde man—the general, she remembered someone saying—paced towards her, his steps slow and menacing.

"I foresee you being unable to comprehend my more... delicate wording," he spoke suddenly, his blue eyes trained on her. "So I shall be blunt with you."

As he neared, Piper noted his appearance. He looked positively troubled, his face was marred with dusky spots and his hair dark with dirt. She narrowed her eyes at him as he neared her, more to catch a better glimpse of him in the dark rather than to appear intimidating.

"I've met over a dozen pirates and all I hear from them are lies," his gaze flicked to her unkempt dress. "Lies, lies, _lies_." He let out a deliberate sigh when he reached her, sinking to her level to match her stare. "I'm tired of lies."

Piper clenched her jaw, her lips pursing inadvertently in response.

The general smirked, seemingly enjoying her reaction, and she barely managed to hide her shudder.

"I want to know if the Duchess of Tenebri was on your ship—"

Piper swallowed thickly. She had certainly heard that name before. Two years prior, in a marketplace, she remembered hearing of the mysterious duchess who had managed to sweep the royal court off their feet.

 _I hear she's beautiful beyond belie_ _f—that even the own king couldn't believe his eyes_

 _I hear she has silk gowns sewn from gold_ _—has to have them imported from far off lands_

 _I hear she's a perfect lad_ y— _perfect ettiquete and perfect dialect._

 _I hear she's ruthless_ — _bound to become queen one day_

"—she was wearing an intricate blue dress when she was kidnapped," the general continued, unaware of the implications flickering through Piper's mind. "She has blonde curly hair and gray eyes."

"I have heard nothing of her from my patrons," Piper answered honestly, carefully circumventing the question. It made her feel better—a bit less corrupted—not to lie, even when she was speaking to despicable humans.

"You swear it?" the general challenged.

"Yes," Piper nodded.

"Then perhaps you should," the man prompted suddenly.

"Excuse me?" the brunette clarified, confused by his odd phrasing.

"Lie." His words were simple, and they shook her more than she deemed appropriate for someone of her position. "Inform the royal court that the duchess was aboard your ship but your captain killed her—forced her to walk the plant."

"You wish the duchess dead?" Piper sought, bemused as to what his request would accomplish.

"I wish to be done with this pointless search," he snapped. "Besides, my reasons are none of your business, you whore."

Piper should have flinched at the word, she almost wished she did—like used to—but exposure had rendered her particularly indifferent to such vulgarities.

"If I were to admit that to the court," Piper explained softly, having found that it was best to tread delicately in heated situations, "I would be executed within seconds."

The uniformed general laughed loudly at her words, his putrid breath sliding across her face. She knew not to react.

"Surely," he chuckled, "you know you will be killed either way." He took wrapped his fingers around her chin, jutting it forward. "It does not bode well for you, little girl."

Well, Piper supposed it was better than whore.

"However, if you comport as I request then I can guarantee you your life."

"How—"

"I shall stage an attack, a small raid on the castle," the shrugged cavalierly. "It will result in a panic and allow you to slip out of your cell. I'll make sure you have the key."

"What do you ask of me then?" Piper inquired decidedly, determined to stay alive, to follow through on the promise she had made to her sister so long ago.

"I will bring you before the court," he expounded. "You will explain that the Duchess is dead. I don't care how it happened."

The brunette nodded silently, her jaw set.

"Assure yourself that the story is believable," the general added, sniffing distastefully at her gesture. "The Duchess is very well liked amongst the royals."

"Why—" Piper began to ask but was interrupted by a loud crash. The man before her groaned and rose to his feet at the sound.

"We set sail for Kriophoros tonight," he delineated quickly, his eyes flowing the noise as it traveled above them. "The journey will take three days time. You have until then to prepare a convincing story—" the general cut himself off as the sound that was beginning to play very much like heavy steps reached the top of the stairs leading to the center.

He turned away from her and rapidly strode up the steps, taking them two by two. Piper couldn't help but smile; was he so desperate not to be associated with her?

The brunette heard a muffled _general_ and the shuffling movements paused. _Grace_ came the curt reply. She took a deep breath and dug her teeth into her lip, praying the Duchess would not be found until she was long gone— _perhaps she will not be found at all_ , she pondered, a sinking feeling embedding itself into her gut.

Piper lifted her eyes as the treads resumed along the steps and spotted the soldier who had saved her—or rather doomed her, she wasn't sure which interpretation she preferred.

Only time would tell.

"I brought you this," he stated awkwardly, hesitantly offering her a roll of bread and a glass jar of beer.

Piper eyed him suspiciously. She wished she could have accepted his gesture without reservation, but she was no longer naive. His lips quivered at her apparent refusal, and she was struck by the memory of his outstretched hand and desperate blue eyes on a sinking pirate ship. Her memory would forever preserve the image; she only wondered if it would be in amber or peat.

Piper sighed inwardly, surrendering herself to his expression and reaching out to take the offering. Her wrists snagged on her restraints again and she winced, the event resurrecting her wound. She ignored the pain, her mouth nearly watering at the sight of food.

"You're hurt," the blonde man noted, his lips parting as a troubled look swept his features.

"I'm hungry," she corrected.

He stepped forward and slipped the food into her fingers, watching with mild fascination as she grasped severely at the provision. His gaze narrowed as he focused on the stain of red marking her palm, regarding the manner with by which it smeared into her skin.

"How—" he began.

"Cut myself," Piper snapped through a bite, turning her wrist slightly to allow him a view of the laceration. It looked fresh, even if wasn't—felt fresh, even though it was long ago.

The soldier nodded slowly, his throat bobbing, alluding to the degree of his discomfort. She continued to disregard his presence as she finished the bread and began drinking the beer. She thought surely he would leave, _surely_ he would not want to spend time in her _filthy_ presence—unless, _unless_ —

Of course, he wanted something from her. Didn't they all. He had laid those icy eyes on her and seen her as an object, as a chess peice in a larger game, a pawn to be easily and quickly discarded. He was licking his lips—of fucking _course_ he was—and he was unbuttoning his shirt.

Piper was tempted to laugh. She was caught. As always, she was caught, trapped in a situation out of her control.

The soldier lowered himself to his knees, his fingers finding her wrist. She wondered if he would hold her hand back, require she not move a muscle. She wondered if he—he was ripping his sleeve. He was—he was—he was pining her wound and wrapping the strip of fabric around her hand. He was tending to her wound, a small purse of concentration pressed into the line of his lips and his hands were gentle, much too gentle, and when his touch left hers she felt a warm relief at the sight of her bandaged hand and—

Piper was confused.

The brunette frowned, staring down at the bandage expertly wrapped around her wrist and hooked around her thumb. She opened her mouth, unsure what to say, unsure _why_ to say it, but she was too late; he was already gone.

And Piper stared, inconceivably breathless in his wake.

* * *

a/n: yo so, obviously I suck. My ib testing finally ended yesterday but other than that I have no excuses. I sort of used them all up the last time I went MIA.

Anyway, I'm legit trying to finish up my other stories bc I want to start more and there's no way I can juggle more than like five (lol bc I currently have three and am lowkey trash at keeping up).

Anyhow, didn't proofread. Whatevs, will deal with that later. Also like, I realize this isn't my best writing but I figured better something than nothing.

The chapter is honestly dedicated to all yall who are still putting up w my shit, but mostly to _GirlishlyGreek_ who leaves the longest, most lovely reviews that make my day :)

iCiao!

p.s. yanny or laurel?


	9. Land

Chapter Nine

Land

Percy Jackson was having a terrible fucking day. Granted, it had been a shitty week in general, ever since the girl arrived— _Lady Chase_. But this day in particular, for some strange reason, had the captain clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, struggling to endure.

It had all started with a rude awakening.

"Captain?" a bemused voice asked, breaking him from his slumber.

"Yes," the dark-haired man had snarled, his head rising with a jolt.

"What are you doing up here?" his crewmate asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding area.

"Captaining the ship," Percy answered sharply, his voice silencing any further questioning. "Why aren't you at your post," he turned the questioning, fixing the boy with an accusatory stare.

"I was asked to inform you that we've spotted land. It should take a few hours, but we will arrive in Montania shortly," he explained, sheepishly kicking at nothing with his feet.

"Good," the captain ground out stiffly, ignoring the aching knot in his neck. "We're on schedule then."

The crew member nodded, his posture still somewhat shaken, before turning swiftly on his heel and scurrying away.

Percy took a deep breath, trying to calm his scattered thoughts. They would arrive at Montania before **,** where he had originally planned to dispose of their mysterious prisoner—except, she wasn't really a prisoner. She had a job, a bed, a room. Gods, she was allowed more privacy than any other passenger aboard their ship.

Percy knew that was no one's fault but his own. He had allowed her to infiltrate his mind, to wrap her tendrils across the expanse of his brain. As a result, he had lost the upper hand and desperately needed to reclaim it. Annabeth had been on his ship for almost a week, and he'd spent every day carefully measuring her steps, calculating her movements. She was hiding something—more than _something_. She was hiding _everything._

He could not— _would_ not—let her leave knowing she had beat him. He had long ago promised himself he would never suffer a loss to the crown again.

His father. His mother. He was not inclined to add his pride to the list—in fact, he vehemently rejected the idea.

No, he could not let her go. He needed more time. A few more hours to show her, to prove himself.

Percy exhaled shakily, his fingers curling around the dark wood of the ship's wheel. His fingernails dug savagely into the timber, violently splintering the grain in an attempt to push a pervasive thought from his head, a sneaking suspicion that there were other reasons he soured at the notion of surrendering the blonde.

There was something about her, something mysterious and brilliant lingering just below the surface, something beautiful and violent shadowed behind the harsh gray of her eyes, a treasure waiting to be uncovered—and he'd be damned if he allowed her to leave without having uncovered her secret.

Perhaps he should have realized that it wasn't a question of permission. It never was when dealing with her.

OoOoO

"This is my exit, I assume," Annabeth prompted when he stopped her. Her eyes flickered to the landscape behind him, but her expression remained indifferent.

"Actually," Percy deterred, "there has been a small change of plans." He watched as the small group of pirates readying the ship for the dock turned their eyes, their interests piqued. He would need a decent excuse for keeping her here, one that didn't involve his own curiosities.

"Elaborate, _Captain_ ," the blonde said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Come with me," Percy directed. Turning his back to her, he began stalking towards his living quarters. As much as he craved the return of his bed, he found his curiosity overpowering him.

The captain did not stop moving until he was standing before his bed. He heard the door shut behind him and turned slowly, surprised to find her looking perfectly agreeable. He slid his tongue over his teeth, sizing her up. He knew she would fight. She always did.

"What is the change of plans?" Annabeth reiterated, meeting his eyes.

"You are clearly keeping secrets," Percy explained, taking a long stride in her direction. He faintly registered when she matched his movement. "I have known since your very first day that you are lying about your position, about your intentions, and I have reason to believe you have even provided me a false name."

"Is that so?" Annabeth asked, her lips curling into a mocking purse. "Does Annabeth Evans not suit me?"

"In the wake of said lies," the captain continued, ignoring her jab. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave the vicinity as you may share valuable intel with our enemies."

"I'm _dangerous_ ," the blonde smiled, taking a long step towards him—or perhaps she took two, he couldn't be sure as her skirt covered the length of her. "Becuase I keep secrets?" She scoffed, and the sound curled around his impulses, spurring him forward, sending heat into his veins. " _Pathetic_ ," she laughed.

"You and I both know—"

"Do you suppose pirates don't keep secrets as well?" Annabeth continued, dismissing his interruption. She took another step towards him, he saw the crescent of her shoe this time and in doing so noted her brazenness.

"I never—"

"Do you believe your crew is forthright with you, _Captain_?" The way her tongue curled around the title was so full of distaste, so full of mocking, he wished she wouldn't use it.

"They may not disclose to me the every detail of their day," Percy growled, tilting his head down to sweep his gaze over her face when he spoke. She was close enough now that he could see his breath brush back the loose golden curls framing her face. "But they are honest when the matter is significant."

"Perhaps," Annabeth allowed. She paused, watching him with careful eyes. She was hiding something. She was always hiding something. "And do they know _you_ lie to them, Captain?"

Percy's heart stopped—then it started again, but the pace was unbearable. Despite the inner turmoil, however, he was silent at her inquiry.

"Do they know—I wonder," she rephrased, a fleeting look of triumph brushing her fine features, "that their _beloved_ Captain lies to them every day?"

She was too close. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, could see the fire burning in her eyes, could feel the flames that accompanied her every word. She was too close, in more ways than one.

"What are you talking about?" Percy rumbled through gritted teeth, his muscles tensing beneath the light fabric of his top.

"I told you not to underestimate me, Captain," Annabeth hummed, her heated exhale tickling his lips.

She was so close, much too close.

"You notice my inconsistencies,"— _fuck fuck fuck_ —"and I notice yours."

"And what," Percy snarled, trying to keep his nerves hidden, "do you suppose are my inconsistencies?"

"You speak with a certain lilt to your words," the blonde expounded. "You elongate your vowels in particular words."

Percy remained silent, his lips pressed firmly together, awaiting her conclusion.

"It's not uncommon among pirates, especially as the majority of them originate from Atlantis." She smiled again, the sight was positively unnerving. "Why then, Captain Jackson, does your crew believe you are fromMontaria?"

"I must have picked it up along my journeys," Percy dismissed with a sneer. She had nothing. She had found nothing. She—

"Moreover," she ignored him. "Your diction is quite... _odd_."

"Well forgive me, Evans," he growled. "If my education is not to your royal standard."

Annabeth laughed. The sound was hollow. It made his blood run cold.

"Quite the opposite, Captain. When you speak, you slip in and out of educated language. You speak as if it is your native tongue, but you bury it beneath rough ineptitude—or attempt to at least."

"Is that all?" Percy mocked, praying she would not continue, praying she had not thought over the implications of her discoveries, knowing she probably had.

"No," Annabeth remarked lightly with a lip of her lips. "But it's all for now."

"I thought you were never to reveal your deck," Percy challenged, purposefully referencing a lowly game of skill and luck.

"You aren't," the blonde agreed with a deviant curve of her mouth. "Not until the end of the game, anyhow."

He parted his lips, hot breath spilling and mingling with hers. Her stormy eyes shone brightly in the dimly lit room. The starting color almost managed to distract him from the question at hand.

Poker was a game of pirates, of rapscallions and scoundrels. How was it, then, that a Lady to the crown knew the game?—much less presented rules with such confidence?

"And you believe this game to be over?" the captain questioned, realizing he had been silent for far too long.

She was wearing a smug expression. He felt a sudden desire to make it disappear. He tried to step forward to intimidate her but quickly realized there was no more room; the pair was toe to toe. And while he couldn't step any closer to her, he _could_ lower his face to hers, he _could_ watch her swallow thickly as his words washed over, he _could_ revel in the impact of his presence.

"Oh, Captain," she cocked her head, recovering quickly—" _Percy_ "—and casting him a look of success. "This game has been over since I stepped onto this ship."

Percy was afraid in that moment. A shudder wracked his body at her words—or perhaps it was the sound of his name falling from her lips in nothing more than a conspiratory whisper—he didn't have time to dwell on the issue as a glimmer of something silver caught his eye. His gaze snapped to her hand. She held a silver tipped quill, looking quite pleased.

Then he laughed, loud and boisterous at her arrogance. He reached for the pistol at his waist only to find a small hand already there. He looked up, bemusement momentarily tinging the green of his eyes.

She smiled—big and wide and brilliant, like he had never seen before—and he decided—in that terrifying, unending second—that she was quite beautiful when she smiled

OoOoO

"Why—" Thalia sighed, rolling her eyes, "are you asking _me_?"

"It seems you are the only one _privileged_ enough to know what the captain is thinking," Sam snapped, his fingers curling into fists beside him.

"Sorry," she dismissed him, shrugging mockingly. "He hasn't said anything to me—and even if he _did_ , I would never betray his trust like that."

"You have to know something," Sam pressed, cutting in front of her, his body blocking her movement. "He's been following her around like a pet. It's fucking _pathetic_ ," he spat.

"Watch your mouth!" Thalia barked, taking a sharp step towards the pirate. "If I hear you speaking badly of the captain _one_ more time, it'll be the last word you speak."

"Your loyalty is admirable, Thalia," he countered. "It's a pity you waste it on people like him."

"That's not your decision to make," the dark haired girl growled. "It's mine."

"Fine," Sam agreed through gritted teeth. "But something needs to be done about the girl. She walks around like she owns the fucking ship. She disrespects the crew with her fucking _presence_."

"You're exaggeratting—" Thalia scoffed loudly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," he cut her off curtly. "I assuredly am not." He stalked towards her until they were almost nose to nose. "And if it continues," he hissed, "then _I_ will be forced to take care of her myself."

"Don't you dare interfere—"

"I will do what is _needed_ ," he continued. "In order to ensure the survival of the Argo II."

"I assure you, the captain knows what he's doing," Thalia flashed.

"Sorry if your word isn't enough anymore." Sam's nostrils flared dangerously, his eyes scanning her body in distaste. He began to turn but before he could make it far, Thalia grabbed him by the collar, spinning him around.

"The way you speak," she warned, her eyes glistening darkly. "You sound like _you_ might just be a threat to this ship and its crew. If that turns out to be true—well," she laughed, enjoying the look of fear that flittered across his irises. "You already know what we do to traitors around here."

OoOoO

"They say the quill is stronger than the sword," Percy remarked, anxiously watching her barely-there movements out of the corner of his eyes. "But I don't think this is what they mean."

"You'd be surprised," Annabeth whispered, her hand slowly trailing up his side, tracing the sharp lines of his torso before reaching his jaw. "What I can do with just a few seconds." She slid the feathered end of the quill across his stubble, her eyes fixating on the bob in his throat and the shift of his gaze.

It just barely flickered, the inclination was so small she almost didn't notice it, almost didn't catch the dip that inarguably, _inexplicably_ landed on her lips.

She should have attacked him then. She should have taken advantage of his momentary lapse in judgment and concentration to strike—but she didn't.

Instead, she remained frozen, dazed by the heat rushing through her. It was hot hot _hot,_ but more importantly, it was new. She had never felt this heat coiling inside her, this toxic knot curling in her lower abdomen. It was—it was new and it was unfamiliar and—

No, it wasn't.

It absolutely wasn't.

But it was the reason she wasn't prepared when he extended his arm and caught her by the wrist. It was the reason he was able to pin her arm holding the quill to her chest. He smiled then, and she was taken aback by the surprisingly pleasing curve of his lips.

No—

She leaned forward, pressing her chest to his. She felt him gasp and fought a smile, parting her lips and allowing her hot breath to sweep over his stunned expression. In the same second, she flicked her free hand, dismantling his grip and taking hold of his pistol. Her fingers had barely wrapped around it when he realized when what was occurring.

Percy tightened his grasp on her wrist and it caused her to jerk her body. The weapon fell to the floor with a clatter. She caught his eye, watched his mind whirring behind the glaze of his eyes.

In a second, he was on the floor, reaching desperately for the pistol. Annabeth lifted her dress, kicking it out of his reach. It skids under the bed. Annabeth watched, assuring herself it was out of reach.

"Argh!" she yelped as a hand wrapped around her ankle. He dragged to the floor and quickly climbed on top of her.

Annabeth wanted to laugh. He was smiling like he'd thought he'd already won. He was underestimating her, again. And he would regret it, again.

She drove her knees upwards, into his groin. She heard him groan and reveled in the deep sound. While his head was bowed before her, Annabeth rammed the heel of her hand into his nose, breathing at the feel of hot blood spilling onto her skin.

"Nrgh!" Percy growled, throwing his arm out blindly and wrapping his fingers around a bundle of curls. He pulled hard, dragging her head back towards him. His vision returned just in time to see the blonde glaring at him, bearing his silver-tipped quill like it was the deadliest weapon on the planet.

OoOoO

"What do you think?" Thalia questioned, fixing Nico with an uneasy look.

"I think he's dangerous," the dark-haired boy replied, his brow furrowed in worry. "But he's not wrong."

"Percy might be acting a bit more... _polite_ ," Thalia tried to argue. "But it's not _that_ noticeable, it's not that unlike him!"

"Thalia," Nico sighed, resting his hand on her shoulder in a calming gesture. "You and I both know that's true, but _they_ don't."

"Fuck," she replied and the sound was violent—guttural and gruff. "I told him—I fucking _told_ him, this would only end badly."

"We both know," Nico shook his head softly, his eyes trained on the incoming land, "that they would never have accepted him if they'd known."

"But there's nothing _wrong_ with it," Thalia protested, her voice rising as she spoke, growing in an attempt to match her frustrations.

"Thalia," Nico nudged her, reminding her of their surroundings. They weren't in nearly a private enough setting to be discussing the current matters.

"There's nothing wrong with him," she whispered, meeting Nico's sad gaze.

"I know." He took a deep breath, trying to comfort her with a look, knowing anything else would be more suspicious. "We can't fix what they think," he advised in a quiet voice, his stare scanning the deck, "but we can control what they know."

"Sam will need to be taken care of," Thalia remarked evenly, her harsh demeanor slowly seeping back into her expression.

Nico nodded. "She's leaving today, correct?" he asked.

"That's the plan." She stepped away from the younger boy. "After today, she won't be a problem anymore."

"I'll keep the talk down for the next few hours," Nico informed. "You need to go make sure Percy doesn't do anything else that could cause gossip." He shot her one final grimace. "We can move past this."

OoOoO

"I told you not to underestimate me," Annabeth remarked almost casually as she hooked her heel around the back of Percy's knees, toppling him to the floor. He fell forwards and caught himself with his hands. He turned quickly onto his back and attempted to stand but something slammed into his knees, forcing them back to the ground.

"So you did."

He tried to rise again, but as he glanced upwards to gauge the situation, he found himself momentarily distracted by the way Annabeth fell to her knees in front of him. He watched her with a dangerous fascination as she straddled his hips, her body sliding seamlessly against his, all while she held something cold and sharp to his neck, digging it into his skin.

"I told you it wouldn't be a mistake," she continued and Percy could feel everything. He could feel her pulse racing wildly against his skin, could feel her heart thumping loudly against his, could feel her lungs desperately sucking in air against his chest, could feel her entire body as it brushed precariously, _dangerously_ against his.

"I told you—" Her hair draped around them, the golden curls encapsulating them in the moment, trapping her deadly whispers against him. "That it would be fucking _fatal._ "

Percy had the sense to shiver at her words, at the venom that trickled from her mouth into his, at the violence glinting in her eyes. He wasn't sure why the sight excited him, wasn't sure why it had his blood rushing and his nerves buzzing and his gaze sharpening.

The quill—sharpened, no doubt—pushed into his neck, breaking the skin with a sharp sting.

He realized, of course, that this might be his last sight—that those might be the last words he'd hear—that this might be the last day he'd live. And, as shitty as the day had turned out to be, Percy decided, somewhat subconsciously, that maybe, just maybe, the sight of her— _this_ sight—of damp lips and glistening eyes and red cheeks and _her_ , might just be an okay sight to die to.

Then her gaze faltered, her fingers hesitated, her breath hitched—and he smiled, because he knew it wasn't over, not for him, and certainly not for them.

"Can't—" he began but was cut off by the door.

Then came the crash.

* * *

a/n: hola yall. So hello. I realize I said this was going to be coming out on a weekly basis, but I honestly think that's a pipe dream. Also like, I've finally reached the chapters where my prewritten shit runs out and like, yes it was shit, but it was a starting point. Still though, since my summer is off to a boring start, I should have plenty of time to write.

Also, I know this is a bit short and might sway a little from the usual format bc I switch from Percy's pov to Annabeth's pov and then go back to Percy's pov (also there's like the Thalia stuff), but yeah. I just happened and I didn't want to rewrite.

Anyway, so yep. Percy's keeping secrets too. Ooooo. Whatever will happen next? lol, okay anyway, the secrets will start coming out in the next few chapters.

This chapter is dedicated to _FlyingShoes135_ because they leave very kind reviews that make me smile :)

iCiao!


	10. Something

Chapter Ten

Something

"Do you know what this is about?" Jason asked the man lined up beside him. They had been asked to gather on deck for an important announcement.

The man shook his head, grimacing at the blonde. Jason moved to question the man to his left, but Octavius's voice rang out across the stage.

"Soldiers," he greeted, his lips pulled into a solemn frown. "I am afraid I have some bad news."

Jason felt his gut twist at the words. His fingers, suddenly hot and moist, began to tremble against the barrel of his weapon. He felt a bead of cold sweat roll down the back of his neck, tucking itself into the fabric of his uniform.

"After speaking with our prisoner," Octavius continued. "I have determined that the Duchess is dead—"

No no _no._ Jason stood, momentarily stunned by the information. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He had taught her to protect herself— _he_ was supposed to protect her—

"—the prisoner explained to me that the duchess was indeed aboard the ship, however, was promptly killed upon the revelation of her connection to the crown—"

His blood seemed to still in his veins, his stomach twisting unpleasantly as he attempted to make sense of what he was hearing. She couldn't be dead. She _couldn't_ be. She had fought so hard, so _fucking_ hard— _He_ had fought so hard—no no no

"—we will be returning to Kriophoros to inform the King and Queen of the atrocities committed and to receive further orders, effective immediately—"

Jason felt nausea creep up his throat. He considered for a moment, that he had saved one of the pirates who had done this to her, who had committed these _atrocities_. He remembered the distrust that had flashed across her eyes before she'd taken his hand.

"—prepare yourselves, soldiers. We're going home."

 _Home_.

Jason blinked as the soldiers broke formation and marched to their positions.

 _Home_.

His home had long been demolished by pirates. It had been destroyed the second his sister was taken. He had found family in Annabeth. He had found _home_ in Annabeth. Was it still home without her? Was anything?

OoOoO

It was long past midnight when Jason finally arrived at the small entrance to the hold. He had spent hours aimlessly pacing, trying to wrap his head around the news that she was gone. She was his last hope. She was everyone's last hope—and now she was fucking dead.

Jason stormed down the creaky stairs before him, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had to know what had happened to her. He didn't care how disgusting or distasteful it was. He _needed_ to know.

When Jason saw her, she was sitting on the floor, like she always was. Her mouth formed a small bored expression, her eyes adorning the image. Her gaze pricked at his entrance, her orbs widening at the sight before her.

He knew what she was seeing wasn't pleasant. He knew his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodstained. He knew his clothes were dirty and rough. He knew his lips were bitten and swollen—but he also knew Annabeth was dead.

"How did it happen?" Jason asked, pushing back a tremble in his larynx.

"How did what happen?" the brunette replied, furrowing her brows slightly at him.

"How did she _die_ ," Jason ground out, taking several long strides towards her.

"Oh," she licked her lips. They were filthy. He wished he hadn't cared—wasn't sure why he did. "She revealed her position as a duchess and our captain who hated royalty forced her to walk the plank."

"So she drowned?" Jason asked blankly after a beat of silence. He felt his knees buckling beneath him, threatening to throw his body to the ground.

"Yes," the pirate nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss," she added in a quiet voice.

"It's not my loss," he muttered, raising his misted eyes to meet hers. "It's _everyone's_ loss."

The pirate was silent in response. Jason felt his fingers curl into fists, his nails picking at his own skin, drawing blood. He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was choking on his own breath, on his own fucking breath. Annabeth had been deprived of air. She had choked. She had fucking choked. He couldn't choke. He couldn't—

"You have no idea what you've done!" Jason exploded suddenly. He watched the brunette jump and reveled in her reaction, in the timid glint in her eyes. "You have no _fucking_ idea! She was going to make a change! She was going— _fuck_ —"

"I'm sorry—"

"I _loved_ her," Jason cried, grabbing the pirate by her elbow and forcing her to her feet. He spotted the bandage he had created for her just a few hours before and felt his toes curl in response. She had seemed so innocent back then. He knew better now. He knew what she was capable of.

"We've all lost people we love," she countered, her temper clearly rising beneath the surface.

"You, pirates, think you can take whatever you want!" Jason snarled. "You kidnap, rape, and pillage innocent townfolk—"

"It's no different from what _you_ do," the brunette hissed. "You and your cavalry ride into towns and take people's wealth! You force them to turn to theft and—and other dishonorable acts just to support their families—"

"The navy does not—"

"Taxation without representation, without fucking benefits or results," she insisted, roughly pulling her limb his grip. " _That's_ theft."

"I _loved_ her," Jason ignored. "She was a fucking sister to me. She was the sister that you couldn't take—but you _did._ You took her. I promised to protect her, and you took her. You took her and—and I couldn't—"

"I didn't do anything!" the pirate blurted out. "I played no part—"

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered. "What did you do to her? What monstrosities did you force upon her?—" he fought back a sob at the horrid images flying through his mind's eyes. "What the fuck did you _do_ to her? Do you have any idea what she was going to be? What she was going to accomplish? The changes she was going to make? Do you—"

"Grace!" A voice suddenly rang out in the small, dank room.

The blonde turned quickly, finding his general behind him, a dark expression coloring his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" his superior searched.

"I just wanted to—to know if Annabeth—uh, the _duchess_ —had any last words," he replied, his face still feeling as though it was on fire.

"Well," Octavius suddenly said, turning towards the pirate. "Did she?"

"I—I can't remember," the petite brunette answered softly, her chest rising and falling rapidly from the argument.

"You have your answer," Octavius snapped at Jason. "Now return to your post."

"Yes, sir," Jason nodded. Keeping his head low, he strode towards the stairs but was stopped by his commander's voice.

"And Grace," Octavius added, forcing the boy to turn back around. "Clean yourself up before you do. You're a fucking disgrace to this navy looking like that."

"Yes, sir," Jason agreed, gritting his teeth to bottle the emotion threatening to break him. He continued up the stairs, but before he reached the top he looked behind him. He saw his general slowly stalking towards the young woman. He turned and continued upstairs.

OoOoO

The next morning, Jason woke from a restless sleep. He had spent the night dreaming of the night that had changed his life— _the_ night—but in his dreams, blonde curls had replaced with black locks. He had managed to lose both. He would never forgive himself— _could_ never forgive himself.

Jason sat up, nearly hitting the low ceiling above his hammock. He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the sleep induced creases. He swung his legs over the raised fabric at the edge of his hammock and was about to jump down when he heard a soldier somewhere behind him speaking conspiratorially. At the tone with which he presented the information, Jason paused his movements, quieting his breathing.

"—disorderly or anything," the male voice informed someone else. "General said she was timid though—never offended anyone—"

Jason frowned, wondering what they could be talking about so secretively.

"They still killed her though," another voice entered the conversation.

"Yeah," the original informant replied. "But that's because they're pirates. They would kill anyone—even if that person begged for their life."

Jason felt his skin prickle at his words. it was clear now. They were speaking of Annabeth, but the story they were telling. He wondered if it were true or only rumored. The descriptions—timid and pleading—seemed to out of character for the young blonde. The Annabeth he knew was never quiet unless strategically so. The Annabeth he knew would have fought to the tooth and nail to ensure her own survival. The Annabeth he knew would not have spared anyone's feeling for the sake of formality, especially not a pirate's. The Annabeth he knew would never— _never_ —had begged for her life.

Jason wanted to continue listening to the odd conversation but knew he had to make his post in a timely fashion. He wondered if the pirate in the hold had given the pirates this information. Would she give him any if he asked? Even after their heated argument the night prior? He hoped so.

Jason jumped from his elevated hammock and landed on the ground with practiced ease. He decided he would visit the ship's prisoner. He needed to hear about Annabeth's death. He needed to know what happened—how she met her end. Any information that might help him find closure would be welcomed.

OoOoO

Piper sat on the dirty floor of the hold, her knees tucked into her chest and her head bent. She didn't look up at the pitter patter of steps above. She didn't blink at when the footsteps grew in volume and surrounded her.

"Did she have any last words?" she heard a voice ask.

The brunette picked up her head, furrowing her brow slightly at the tension so clearly expressed in his tone. He was a rubber band seconds from breaking—she wondered what it would look like, to see him break. Would it be like the night prior? When he'd yelled at her, his voice cracking and straining with emotion? Would he—

"Tell me the truth," he croaked. "Did the duchess have any last words?" He took another step towards her.

The question made her frown deepen. She parted her lips to answer but realized she had nothing to say. She had meticulously memorized the details of the duchess's fake death. She had pictured the tragedy—or miracle depending on one's point of view—frame by frame. She replayed the imaginary event over and over in her head. She had prepared herself to speak of the brutality, barbarity, and cruelty shown. But despite all her preparation, she had not provided for this.

She had never considered that someone aboard this ship might actually care deeply about the duchess. The descriptions she had heard of her depicted a simpering beauty, someone born into wealth and royalty who had known nothing else. Someone who had never a chance to know loss or pain or love.

He loved her.

He had stated it quite clearly last night. He had claimed she was a sister to him. Why hadn't she prepared for a question of sentimentality? Why hadn't she thought he would return? Why hadn't she—

He loved her.

The thought made her pause, a breath inexplicably caught in her throat. It made her fingers twitch and her heart go still. She was a sister to him. She wondered where her sister was, then washed the thought from her head, detesting the abhorrent images that appeared.

"I said," the blonde soldier boomed, "did she have any last words?"

"I—" she bit her lips, considering the man in front of her—except, he wasn't a man. He was a boy forced into the body of a man. His electric blue eyes flashed with strength and pain and anguish and—

 _Naivete_ , she realized with a shaky exhale. She wondered what he would want to hear. Perhaps her words could remedy his distress, even if it was momentary. Perhaps, if she could do that, it would be _something_.

"She said," Piper began slowly, the words sticky and sweet on her tongue. "'Tell them I'm sorry, and tell him I love him."

The boy was silent after her false confession, but she saw his eyes narrow just marginally and knew she had misstepped.

"No," he declared finally. "She didn't say that. She _wouldn't_ have said that. She would have fought until the last second. She would have—she wouldn't have said that."

"I guess she knew her time had come to an end," Piper attempted to fix her mistake, her eyes shooting to the top of the stairs, worried the general might hear of her blunder.

"No," he shook his head. "She would have wanted her last words to be impactful, to be inspiring, to be—to be _something_."

"Isn't love _something_?" Piper questioned.

"Yes." His gaze settled on hers, a flash of darkness spreading over his iris. "But it's not enough—not for her—not for Annabeth."

"Perhaps she's never known real love then," Piper murmured, somewhat entranced by the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room and the fluttering of her lungs at his piercing stare.

"Perhaps," he agreed, blinking before continuing. "Or perhaps, you're lying."

Piper didn't answer.

"You are," he decided, taking yet another step in her direction. He was almost a foot away. She had to strain her neck to look up him from her position on the floor. "You're lying."

"No," she rejected. "I'm not."

"Yes," he insisted, his brows pulling into a frown. "Why are you lying?" he demanded, though the words fell from his mouth like a hushed whisper, an air of confusion accompanying them.

"I'm not," she assured. "I have no reason to lie."

"But you do anyway," he determined. "Tell me why you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" Piper exclaimed forcefully in an attempt to quiet his suspicions, but it seemed it was too late. The doubt had imprinted itself into his brain.

"You don't have to tell me," the blonde soldier told her, his teeth gritted and jaw tensed. "But I'll figure it out one way or another."

Piper rolled her eyes but was otherwise silent.

"Have you eaten?" he prompted suddenly.

"I cannot be bribed," she snapped. "I don't care if you starve me. I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear—whatever that is, anyhow."

"I'm not asking you to tell me what I want to hear," he hissed. "I'm asking you to tell me the truth—the fucking _truth_."

"I'm telling you the truth," Piper shouted.

He took a large step back at her outburst, a look of surprise flitting across his features. She clapped her mouth shut, inwardly reprimanding herself for losing control. She had no idea what the punishment for insubordination or disobedience was aboard this ship, but she wanted no part of it.

"Fine," the blonde soldier grunted. He spun on his heel and departed, leaving only the buzzing air to remind her of his visit.

She felt her stomach growl and wondered if she should have accepted the food from him. No, he would have expected the truth from her, and if she valued her life, she would keep to the general's plan. Regardless, it was too late now though. Besides, she had gone longer without eating.

Piper laid her head down on the ground, positioning herself so her chained hand was not entirely uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and wished herself to sleep, desiring nothing more than to put this morally confusing ordeal behind her.

She woke within the hour, feeling the chain around her wrist digging into her skin once again. She sighed through gritted teeth, her foggy vision sweeping her surroundings to find a platter of food before her. It wasn't much—bread, smoked meat, and wine—but it was something.

* * *

a/n: switching povs again. What can I say, it's a habit I can't seem to break. I'm not really trying that hard tho.

Anyway, sorry this took so long to come out and sorry it's a bit short. It was almost done for the longest time, but I've been working like crazy for the last week so I haven't gotten any time to write until now.

Next one is half written so here's hoping it'll be out faster than this one.

This chapter is dedicated to _Fratzy_ bc she was very supportive of me hypothetically starting a new story.

Also, I have a poll for my next story in my profile. Yes, all the options are lowk trash but like, get with it yall. Trash is me, me is trash.

Go. **V o t e**. Please.

iCiao!


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